#agent whiskey au

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door. 

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t. 

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 1

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, death, gun use, angst. Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name.  Summary: A mission gone wrong ends with disastrous consequences for Jack, but Champ has a plan. A plan to change your life forever. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number six, everyone! I’m so, so excited to dive in here because I adore Jack. Keri and I are moving ahead with full steam on this story and we can’t wait to see what you all think of it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Statesman, the independent intelligence agency, probably has some of the most up-to-date intel that anyone could ever want. Most times. Right now, that isn't the case. Ducking down behind a flipped over table, Jack – Agent Whiskey – rips off the broken frames of the glasses that not only fed him information but also scanned anyone for weapons and allowed his oversight team to see what he was seeing. A little bit of 'through the looking glass' magic.

"Now, damnit Ginger, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I need to know how the fuck to get out of here." Jack growls into the minuscule microphone that is imbedded into the earpiece that allowed her to talk directly into his ear. He glances at a body that is laying nearby, limbs sprawled with his eyes open and lifeless. The target that he had been after but someone else had started shooting up the place before he could reach him.

“You’ve been made, Whiskey, you need to get out of there.” It might be a little bit of stating the obvious, but Ginger’s even tone comes through his ear piece loud and clear. “What’s your clearest exit?”

"Does it look like I know?" Jack huffs, rolling his eyes even though the Statesman tech couldn't see him as he takes a chance and sticks his head up to scan the area for the nearest exit. The rapid burst of gunfire makes him duck back down, wood from the table splintering above his Stetson. "Southeast corner."

“Get out through the kitchen.” Ginger orders, clicking through floor plans and security cameras at her desk at lightning speed. “Through the kitchen, out the delivery bay doors, and left when you hit the alley. That will put you in the parking lot. Grab a car and get to the hell back to the Silver Pony.” The end of this mission has gotten messier than Champ will like, and extraction is their best option until a new strategy can be decided on. It’s ugly, but it happens sometimes. That’s one of the hazards of their line of work.

"Copy." Jack hunches down a little more when another barge of gunfire erupts, this time he feels the tug of a bullet as it tears through the wood and punches a hole through his hat. "Didn't think y'all'd give me a second." He grumbles, reaching for the pair of pearl handled .44 revolvers that are tucked into his holsters. Flipping them easily by the trigger guards as more of a habit than anything else, the weight of them is familiar and steady in his hands.

"Gonna hit the sprinklers and fire alarms in five seconds, Jack." The warning is the best Ginger can do for him, knowing that the ensuing chaos will confuse and disorient the enemies shooting at Jack and give him just a few seconds to get across the room while they adjust to something new happening around them. "Five...four...three...two...one!"

The distraction is just the window that he needs. Springing out from behind the compromised cover to start shooting. Jack's aim is true, taking down two of the people shooting at him with quick pulls of the triggers under his fingers. Three pounds of pressure to pull the hammer back and fire, custom designed for him for better rate of fire in a pinch. Those targets down, Jack starts to dash through the spraying water, the alarms starting to blare out to warn of a fire that isn't there but the system thinks it is.

The double doors into the hotel kitchen slam open, expelling Jack into the crowded, overheated room full of clamoring cooks getting ready for dinner service. A radio blaring in one corner and more than a dozen people shouting to each other had covered most of the noise of gunshots, but there's no mistaking their surprise when the mustachioed cowboy falls through the doors into their domain.

Jack’s eyes are darting around the room, seeking out a potential threat and when he doesn’t find one, he starts running for the door on the opposite side of the long galley.

Most people jump out of the way, some brandishing the knives in their hands as defensive weapons and others hide behind prep tables. The blaring alarm has now made its way to the kitchen, and everyone not cowering or weakly defending themselves is now trying to cover the food they have been cooking from being destroyed by the water splashing down from the ceiling. There is shouting and chaos, but no one dares to stop the cowboy running at full speed down the length of the kitchen.

“Ginger!” Jack shouts, even though he doesn’t have to as he pushes out of the doors that lead to the dock and loading bay. “Where to—” His words break off as he sees the glint of a gun out of the corner of his eye, reacting without even hesitating. Twirling around and his weapons fire on instinct.

"Jack?" Ginger's voice echoes in his ear as the man whirls around to see two bodies drop to the pavement behind him. One had a gun outstretched, the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled under the force of the shot that sent him falling backward. The other pitched into the wall before he fell – chef's jacket stained crimson with his own blood. "Jack! Are you hit?" She asks, voice more determined and edging on nervous.

Jack’s blood rushes to his ears, making Ginger sound like she is underwater. Or maybe it’s him that is drowning. It’s suddenly hard to breath, the seeming sucked from his lungs as he sways on his feet for a heart stopping moment. The impact of what he has just done crashing over him.

“Jack? Jack!” Ginger’s voice in his ear makes his vision sharpen from where it had gone fuzzy, bringing him back to the moment.

“Ginger Ale.” Jack chokes out. “I—shit, I just shot a civilian.”

"Shit." For a woman who rarely ever curses, the impact of it doubles coming from Ginger. "Get out of there, Jack. I'll send in Gamma Team to clean up. But I don't want you being part of the cleanup. You hear me?"

A civilian. Shit. Champ is going to be furious.

******

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency, and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

“Who gets a goddamn tattoo on the back of their elbow?” Jack growls, twisting his arm around before he catches sight of the ink. “I don’t want another soulmate. This needs to be broken.” Tattoos and scars were things that could get an agent killed. Identifying marks, things that nanites fixed to conceal their real identities. Even agent’s soulmates had their scars removed if they were together.

“How exactly do you propose to do that?” Champ asks, raising one incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “Soulmate bonds are only broken by death, Jack. You know that as well as anyone. So unless you’re intendin’ on killing this girl just for existing, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

For one horrifying split second, Jack considers it. In his grief and rage at having his original soulmate, his wife, he thinks about killing another innocent person. “Jesus Christ.” He manages, body sagging and slumping in disgust at himself and overwhelming sadness. “I— I can’t—” Looking helplessly up at Champ, his eyes are filled with pain. “I can’t be someone else’s soulmate.”

“No one’s askin’ you to drop everything and bring whoever this woman is back to the ranch and start your life over.” At this, and Jack’s defeated shoulders, Champ finally pours two fingers of ‘67 Reserve into a clean glass and slides it across the table to Jack. “We’re gonna find her, and she’s gonna be under Statesman protection. That’s how we’re gonna handle this to start out with. Until we know more about her, the best thing we can do for your safety and hers is keep her close.”

“Why the fuck was this Jason Howe outside?” Jack snatched up the glass, pissed that because of one cook’s inability to be in the damn kitchen where he belonged, he’s burdened with a soulmate he doesn’t want. Is he victim blaming and deflecting? Yes, he is. But he doesn’t care right now. The whiskey burns on the way down and Jack sighs in appreciation of that fact.

“Smoke break.” Champ shrugs, knowing that why doesn’t really matter. “Gamma found his DNA on two cigarette butts nearby.”

There’s a sarcastic comment about how smoking kills somewhere rattling around in his brain, but Jack can’t bring himself to voice it. Not when he knows he is to blame, he had reacted and didn’t take a split second to make sure it wasn’t someone innocent nearby. He had done this and it weighs heavily. Nearly as heavy as his wife’s death and he hadn’t been directly responsible for that - though he felt guilty.

Shifting back in his chair, Champ surveys the agent in front of him as an agent rather than his friend, and he drains the rest of his glass in one go. “You have to come out of the field for a while,” he tells Jack firmly. There’s no room for debate here. “Psych eval, incident investigation, and that mark on your arm all have to be addressed before we can get you back out.”

Jack’s jaw rocks, immediately wanting to argue but he knows Champ. There’s no getting around this. He’ll be out of the field until the man gives his stamp of approval and not a moment before. “Had no problem throwing out the Golden Circle but now this is a problem?” He growls, stomping around the table to snatch a bottle of Statesman ‘72 off the bar cart. “Let me know when I gotta talk to the head doctors. Until then, I’m drinkin’.”

“I can’t get you out of this one because I threw my weight around on the Golden Circle case.” Champ huffs, not wanting to cause a fight but ready to have this conversation if need be. “I’m not worried ‘bout you passing, Jack. It’s just gotta get done.” The real concern is the black ink on the back of his arm – a hearts playing card with a teacup where the ace would be and the words ‘Curioser and curioser’ encircling it. While he carries that mark, he’s a danger in the field.

Snorting, Jack turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket off the chair and flicking a mocking two finger salute at Champ. “Sure thing, Champagne,” he huffs, knowing how much the full code name chosen for him irritates him. “I’m on desk duty.”

Champ huffs again, annoyed at Jack for being seemingly even less mature than Tequila in realizing that this isn’t a punishment, it’s caution. “And you’ll stay that way,” he grumbles as the door slams shut behind Whiskey’s retreating figure. “Goddamn stubborn donkey’s ass.”

Jack’s boots slap against the floors as he stomps down the hall. Several agents sidestep and move on the other side, warily eyeing the fierce scowl on his face.

The sound is unmistakable, and Tequila has been waiting to hear it since Jack had reported to Champ a half hour ago. He situated himself in Jack’s office almost immediately after, not really knowing what would happen but figuring that his friend might want to rant about something or go for a drink after. Civilians don’t exactly get caught in the crossfire every day – and Jack takes that kind of thing personally.

The door swings open and Jack pins Tequila with a hard stare. “Get out.” He huffs, striding over to the desk and slamming the bottle down on the hundred year old oak before he turns around to his own wet bar to get a glass.

“Guessin’ Champ ain’t too happy?” Tequila stands from the chair he had been occupying but makes no movement to leave. He’s known Whiskey too long and thinks too well of him to just up and abandon the man.

Jack doesn’t answer, grabbing the cut crystal glass and setting it down a little too forcefully before he picks up the bottle to pull the cork out and pours himself a double.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no, he ain’t’.” Stretching awkwardly, Tequila crosses his arms and watches Jack for a few seconds before he tries again. “There’s a couple of new girls leading tours who’ve been hinting at wanting dates,” he offers, knowing that that usually perks the older agent up a little. “We could blow off some steam tonight?” Mostly he’s just not sure that leaving Jack alone is going to be good in any way.

“Not interested.” Jack grunts, stomach rolling with guilt and anger. “God damnit!” He slams the glass down on the desk and his hand shoots out to sweep the neatly stacked files off the desk to scatter across the floor. Not like he wouldn’t have time to reorganize them anyway.

“Shit, Jack. What the fuck did Champ say?” Whiskey might have a temper, sure, but he usually just blows off his steam at the firing range or with a one-night stand. He’s not the type to go destroying things for fun or catharsis. Tequila steps forward warily, like he’s dealing with a spooked horse instead of his upset friend. “You know you can tell me. We can figure shit out.”

“There’s no ‘figuring it out’, Tex.” Jack snarls, well aware of the fact that Tequila hates his given name and prefers to go by his code name. “Apparently I inherited the civilian’s soulmate.”

“Fuuuck…” Tequila’s jaw drops so hard that his ass ends up back in the chair he has been sitting in only a minute ago. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Fuck if I know.” Jack blows out, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. He needs to examine himself to see what other fucking marks this mystery woman has ‘gifted’ him with.

“Second soulmates are supposed to be a myth…” Anybody who knows a single thing about Jack Daniels knows about Abigail, and the fact that he lost her more than twenty years ago. A bit like anyone who knows him knows he was a rodeo man.

“Second soulmates are lies you tell the poor son of a bitch who’s burying his sweetheart.” Jack spits bitterly, remembering the bullshit people had spouted at him in the name of making him ‘feel better’. It hadn’t worked. “Not needed or wanted.”

“Looks like they ain’t lies at all.” Tequila hunches forward in his seat when Jack peels away his shirt and makes a noncommittal sound at the black-inked image on the back of his arm. “Weird place for it,” he comments, inching closer to get a better look.

“Fucking stupid is what it is.” Had Jack been admiring the tattoo on a woman, one he had in bed or aiming to get into bed, his opinion would have been different. But this was ink on his body. Even the tattoo he had gotten after Abigail and Tim died had to be removed when he joined Statesman.

Tequila squints a second before letting out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s Alice in Wonderland,” he informs the other man once he remembered what the damn quote was all about. “Guess she likes to read.”

“Champ wants to find this woman.” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes and looking towards the mirror that is attached to the bathroom door. Looking for anything else.

“You don’t?” He probably sounds more surprised than he is, but if it were him - Tequila would sure as hell want to find the woman the universe says he’s supposed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Even if all he had was a platonic soulmate, he would still want to know them. To have that connection and closeness. A friend that means so much they become his family. “Not sayin’ you hafta marry her, Jack, but damn. I mean…she’s got a target painted on her now if anyone ever finds out. Shouldn’t Statesman keep her safe?”

If it was anyone else, Jack would say that the protection of Statesman was necessary, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that Champ and Tequila are right, this person – whoever she is – deserves to be safe because of who he is. Instead of answering, Jack pours himself another drink.

“Right.” Nodding at Jack’s silence, Tequila adjusts his Stetson and raps his knuckles once on the large oak desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” It’s the end of the day and he’s presuming that Jack will be drinking his supper tonight. Which is a fair bet, all things considered.

There’s defeat in Jack’s stance, unable to gather his thoughts properly. Work was easy, it didn’t involve his heart and this was everything to do with it. When Jack still says nothing, Tequila stands and turns to move towards the door. “What does it say?” Jack asks quietly, staring down at the empty glass and wishing he was already wasted. “That I’ve got marks on my body again? What does it say about my love for my wife?”

“I don’t know what it says about her,” Tequila admits, turning again to face his friend. “But I think it says that you deserve a chance to be happy again. And from everything you’ve ever told me about Abigail?” He shrugs slightly, glancing down at the framed photograph of the two of them that he knows Jack keeps in pristine condition on his desk at all times. “Seems to me she’d be more upset at you closin’ yourself off than at the universe givin’ you an ass kicking.”

Shame fills Jack, knowing that Tequila had hit the nail on the head. Abby woulda torn into his hide for the thoughts he had about this new soulmate without ever meetin her. Or setting his beautiful, fiery wife up on a pedestal.

“You don’t have to do anything about it.” Tequila says again, knowing that most people in the world see their soulmate as their mandatory partner. Their person as ordained by the universe. Jack had already had that, and it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t find a repeat experience to be necessary. “But at least let Champ protect her. She didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.”

“It’s my fault.” Jack murmurs already pouring another three fingers of whiskey and staring at it for a moment before he takes another swallow. “I killed her soulmate, so the universe is punishing me. Punishing us both.”

“It ain’t a punishment necessarily.” Sensing the tide turning in the conversation, Tequila drops his hat on the side of Jack’s desk and grabs himself a glass before sitting down again. “Not all soulmates are romantic, and not all soulmates are perfect. Maybe you inherited her marks so you can protect her? Who knows.”

There it is. The crux of the problem. “Can’t protect her. Don’t even know her.” Jack huffs. “Couldn’t protect the woman I loved. The woman I would die for. Shoulda died for.” He would have traded places with her in an instant if it meant Abby and Sam were safe and still roaming the earth. It would have been the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Then stay away.” The younger man suggests instead. Pouring himself a short drink and sitting back, he offers Jack a shrug. “Let Champ protect her once he finds her, and don’t tell her who you are. What you are to her. Let her live her life. I don’t pretend to have the answers, man. But I can help you piece this whole thing out.”

Staying away sounds like a solid plan. “I’ll be back out in the field anyway.” He rationalizes, imagining that it will be just a week or two before Champ needs him. Who’s to say that this woman even wants a soulmate? She hadn’t found the Jason Howe fella. “Sometimes that bean between your ears actually works.” Jack grunts with a whisper of a grin.

“Don’t worry.” That gets a hearty laugh from the younger man, and Tequila raises his glass in salute before he takes a sip. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Jack snorts and drowns the rest of his drink and pours himself another before he slides the bottle towards Tequila. “Good.” He jokes. “Otherwise your hat won’t fit.”

******

By every Monday morning you’re always dragging. The restaurant was packed with reservations all weekend long and you probably burned off another fingerprint trying to do the sugar work for the dark chocolate salted caramel tarts that chef insisting on adding to the menu ahead of the new year. They’re beautiful, and delicious, but sugar work is tricky with an overblown wind bag shouting over your shoulder all night. The house is bustling this morning, though, and you have your niece on your hip while you sip your morning coffee and your mother in the other room is singing songs with your nephew. The dog is somewhere, the cat is on the windowsill, and your sister is finally getting her morning shower in after getting up early with the kids because they wanted to see Daddy off to work. There’s enough going on that you almost didn’t even hear your cell phone ring in your pocket. Almost.

Champ taps the file that Ginger had given to him, listening to the ringing in his ear. The soulmate had been found, surprisingly quickly to his delight. While it was assumed that no one knew about the soulmate connection between this woman in the packet and his senior field agent, but never guaranteed. Now he just needs to pitch the winning game to get her to Kentucky.

You almost don't pick up - who would be calling you from Louisville, Kentucky? - but eventually decide that you're curious enough to answer. At the worst you'll have a two-minute conversation with a telemarketer. There are worse things in the world. "Hello?" You press your phone to your ear and shift your niece a little higher on your hip with your other hand.

Clearing his throat, Champ says your name jovially. “Champ Rogers here, happy to get you on the phone, how are you doing this fine morning, darlin’?” Some might take offense to the antiquated word of endearment, but he has a feeling you won’t.

"I'm doing well, thanks." The funny face you make at the one-year-old hugging your side makes it almost sound like you're laughing, the smile coming through in your voice. "I'm not sure I know who you are, though, Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you?"

“Apologies, miss.” Champ shakes his head at himself chuckles. He knows a lot more about you than you do him, although that’ll change if he can help it. “I’m lookin’ for a pastry chef and the head hunter I’ve paid more money than God handed me your resume and said you’d be a good fit.”

"Oh!" Well, that's unexpected. Your head nearly snaps up from sticking your tongue out at your favourite little girl and a frown wrinkles your forehead a second later. "And...where did you say you were calling from?" He didn't, but you don't want to be rude. If he's looking for a personal pastry chef or a one-time catering gig, then Kentucky is a little far for you to travel.

“Kentucky, ma’am.” Champ spins around in his chair and looks out from the top of the infamous bottle that houses his office down at the distillery below. “I run a little outfit called Statesman.” Technically Jack’s CEO on paper, but Champ has final say.

"Statesman like the distillery?" Like your father's favourite whiskey that he's been drinking your entire life and there's always a bottle in the house at all times? Statesman is head hunting you? "Without meaning to seem rude, why exactly would a distillery need a pastry chef?"

Smart as a whistle. Champ grins, delighted that Jack’s new soulmate seems to have a firm head on her shoulders. “Well, we have a little tour operation here. We have around one point three million folks file through our distillery, and I’ve been wantin’ to jazz it up a bit. Offer more than just peanuts with the whiskey tasters.”

"I see." Leaning back against the counter, you lean over and press a kiss to your niece's thin hair while you chew on your bottom lip. It is a hell of an offer, but it seems like it's coming out of left field. Not that you're going to complain about being sought after - that would be the epitome of looking a gift horse in the mouth - and honestly you're pretty damn curious. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Rogers?"

Champ winces at the formality and the way the use of his legal title sits wrong on him, like an ill-fitting hat. “Pastries. Cakes and creams that use our whiskey. Fruit tarts and those little sandwiches. Somethin’ that’ll make the womenfolk happy and I’ve got a space that I want to have set up to make it an experience they can’t get anywhere but Statesman.”

"You want to have...boozy tea party food?" It's so hard not to sound excited when that's right up your alley with the exact kind of baking you already love to do. "Well, I certainly appreciate the call." And since you've never been head hunted before in your entire fucking life, you really don't know what could possibly come next. "And the position you're looking to fill is...an assistant? Sous chef?" There's no way one of the biggest distilleries in the entire country is calling to offer you a brand new executive chef position making your dream food. That would be insane.

“I don’t know what a Sous chef is.” Champ huffs, his accent butchering the word. “I want someone to run the damn thing. Make up the menus to make mouths water.” He feels like your interest might not be enough to get you here. “Tell you what?” Champ grins. “How ‘bout I send the jet to pick you up and you come on over to the distillery and see what you’d be workin’ with?” He offers. “Take the tour, see the space I want to turn into a restaurant and we can see if you think it’s a good fit?”

"The j-jet?" You stutter out the word in disbelief, eyes flying up to catch your mother's as she walks into the kitchen with your nephew in tow – only to immediately give him the quiet signal a second later when she sees you on your phone. "I, uh—" Breathe, you remind yourself aggressively. "I assume you'll want to see what I can do, as well? A headhunter is all well and good, Mr. Rogers, but if you're going to show me your space, I should at least be making you a few sample recipes while I'm there." It's all so much to take in and you're nearly overwhelmed at the enormity of it. This sounds like a dream. Way, way too good to be true.

“Please, call me Champ.” He insists, almost pained at hearing the name his father had been called for years. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. I’ll send you an email, how’s that sound? When do you think you could be here? Jet can be where you are in three hours.” The mention of a private jet always impresses, and he notices it had an effect on you.

"Well...I do have some flexible time at the moment." Two days off from the restaurant in a row is what you've got, and your mind is buzzing with possibilities. "Three hours should be enough to prep a list and book a hotel in Louisville for a night." It will be the most expensive job interview you've ever taken, but really? You can't see passing this up. If nothing else, you'll get to take the distillery tour and bring a bottle back to your dad for his bar. An unexpected trip could be fun.

“Pishaw.” Champ scoffs. “No need for you to book a hotel, there’s a residence on the grounds where we can put you up. It would be yours if you accept the job.” He smirks at the idea.

"You're kidding." It escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, and you would facepalm if you had a free hand. "Out of curiosity, Champ," the informality would never fly in your restaurant kitchen, but you actually prefer it. "What exactly would this position pay?"

“Well darlin’,” Champ admires a woman who gets down to brass tacks. “Considerin’ you’d be responsible for the menu and the runnin’ of the kitchens, I was thinking that we would start you out at 90 with a guaranteed half a percent of all profits per quarter.” Champ offers off the top of his head. He’d only glanced at the baseline salary for an executive chef when he had thought of this – though it was a good idea. “How’s that sound?”

With your phone jammed between your cheek and your shoulder and reach for your mother, gripping her hand so tightly she actually flinches as your eyes nearly bug out of your head. The base line salary you were just quoted is more than twice what you're making now, and it would have profits on top of it, and it even comes with guaranteed housing. "That sounds...like a salary that comes with a lot of responsibility," you admit, when you can finally form a damn word on your own lips again. "You go ahead and send an email with the full job description and offer, and I will send you back a list of supplies to give you a fair view of what I can do. We'll see if my abilities fall in line with your vision for the next step forward at Statesman."

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Champ leans back in his chair, sure that he’s reeled you in. “I’ll be seeing you soon, ya hear?” He hangs up the phone and starts to chuckle to himself as he looks down at your picture in the file. Poor Jack is in for a rude awakening.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The second your phone beeps and disconnects, you stare at it like a ghost has just popped out of it before looking back up at your mother in wonder. "I just...got a job offer. For the most insane job of all time." Shoving the electronic back into your pocket, you shift your niece in your arms and place a kiss on her little head before setting her down in her highchair at the kitchen table and slumping down beside her to grab your now-cold coffee. "Oh my god."

“What in the world is going on?” Moving over to the coffee maker, your mother reaches for her own cup. It’s a routine that you two have coffee while she watches the babies for your sister.

"Apparently a head hunter got a hold of my resume and passed it on to the head of the Statesman Distillery in Kentucky." It's the most unbelievable sentence you've ever said in your life, and you fall back in your chair with a dazed look on your face. "They want to expand their food offerings for tours and events, apparently? They want me to go down there and look at the facility. Mom...that phone call was offering me an executive position."

“An executive position? To do what? Run the bakery?” Your mom turns and leans against the counter so she can sip on her black coffee. “To develop recipes?”

"Develop the entire menu, run the bakery, help roll out this whole new entertaining program for the distillery." Cold coffee is still coffee, and you drink yours slowly just so you don't choke on the drink your excitement. "The job comes with on premises housing and pays more than twice what I make now." The number he quoted is enough to boggle your mind all over again. "They're sending a private jet to pick me up and bring me down there for this interview and lord I hope this is not just some weird scam."

Your mom’s eyes widen and she frowns. “I – you should call the distillery. Ask some questions to make sure. Who sends a jet for a chef?” She doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but it strikes her as extremely odd.

"It sounds too good to be true." Your shoulders drop, and your eyes track down to stare into your coffee. "He's supposed to be sending me an e-mail with flight info and the job offer. It either won't come through or it'll be fake. But at least then I'll have two days off to wallow in the amazing job I almost had."

As if to argue, your phone dings with an email notification. Your mom sighs. “Sweetie— I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so negative. I don’t know how this works in big corporations.” She feels guilty, like she’s stolen your happiness away and you deserve all the joy you can find.

"No, you're just being realistic." Neither of your parents are particularly negative people. You'd call them realistic optimists, if you had to give it a title. They always try to look at the best parts of very practical situations. You pull your phone from your pocket and tap on the e-mail, studying it carefully for any signs of fraud or imitation. "What do you think?" You ask your mother, turning your cell around to let her read what just came through. Decades in journalism have given her a pretty good eye for detective work.

She studies the email carefully and looks up at you. “This looks legitimate.” She admits after a moment, a smile cracking her face. “Keep your phone on you, check in with us, but I think you should go for it.”

"He wants me to make four samples for the interview." Taking your phone back, you can feel the excitement rising all over again. There's nerves there, and a little bit of fear of the unknown, but mostly a giddy amount of glee rising from the tips of your toes all the way up to the top of your head. Moving a thousand miles away from your family for a job wasn't exactly a possibility on your radar, but if this job is for real? You'd be foolish not to do it. "I guess...I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to make and send off a supply list and then pack."

“You go do that.” Your mom takes your coffee cup and grins at you. Would she miss you if you took the job? Absolutely. But this is too good of a chance for you to get out of your current restaurant. “Just think— your own kitchen where no one can yell at you.”

"And if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is." With hugs and kisses for your niece and nephew, you start to hustle out of the room but stop in the living room doorway and turn back around. "What do you think about doing Grandma Jane's coconut cake as cupcakes and adding bourbon to the cream cheese frosting?" If Statesman wanted booze in their desserts, you sure as hell weren't going to pass up the chance to present it with the family's coveted cake recipe.

“If they don’t give you the job based on that alone, they are fools.” Your mother huffs, giving you an encouraging smile. “You’ll knock them dead.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @sabbs118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @unnecesarysstuff @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

[psychedelic-ink]

Rockstar AU, 38, Jack. (Because I’m nothing if not loyal to my Pedro boy.)

THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE very tempted to write more of this ngl thank you for requesting!!

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓

pairing: jack daniels x fem!reader

genre: rockstar au + making out as a distraction, smut

word count: 515

summary: You're a music journalist that's assigned to interview a notoriously difficult rockstar. Things don't go as planned.

warnings: heavy make out, making our backstage, dry humping

It was supposed to be easy. You were constantly praised for your silver tongue, for your ability to get the juiciest information from these stubborn rockstars. Even the ones who refused to talk. You would place a hand on their knee and make them feel like they had a friend. They were lucky you weren’t an inherently bad person. Because some of the things these people confessed to you—whew—they are very lucky indeed. You used your powers for good. With great power comes great responsibility. 

You weren’t surprised when the editor-in-chief asked you to interview the infamous Jack Daniels—ridiculous name you know— sales were down, and having him on the cover would be an excellent boost. His words, not yours. 

It was supposed to be easy. You heard the news about him and his wife, may her soul rest in piece. No one really knew what actually happened. Jack’s manager doing everything they could to keep it under the radar. A funeral was held. Jack disappeared for two years. He snapped at every journalist that dared to reach out to him…you liked those odds. 

So why, after half an hour of trying to get this man to talk, do you have his tongue shoved down your throat backstage? 

He smells like leather. And a sharp cologne assaults your nostrils. His tongue licks over yours hungrily, his lips melting into yours. Your hands are lost for a moment, not knowing where to hold, after a moment or two, you place them above his shoulder, awkwardly gripping his leather jacket. His thigh pushes between your legs. Without thinking your grind down. Arousal pools between your legs, your underwear feeling uncomfortable and sticky as it rubs against the sensitive folds. 

His fingers curl around your neck, he doesn’t squeeze, just holds them there. It feels nice. 

“Not so talkative now, are you sweet thing?” he purrs, lips brushing your cheek. You shudder at his warm breath wetly fanning across your skin. “Coming here all high and mighty…treating me like a darn wounded animal. Well, sugar, I ain’t wounded.” 

He thrusts up his thigh, the pleasure raking over your skin like cold rain. A whine parts your lips when he flexes the muscle underneath you, your pussy clenching around on nothing. Jack drags his lips down your neck and kisses where it connect with your shoulder. Your nipples tighten under the fabric of your shirt. Yoru entire body singing for him you suck them, pinch them—your nails bite into the leather. Your world is spinning out of control. 

“I’ll give you two options, darlin’,” he mutters, blowing a puff of air that chills the wet spot he’d kissed. “Either I answer your trivia questions, or—” he grins, guiding your hips into a slow grind. You moan into his neck. “I make you come. Your choice.” 

You don’t even remember the questions you were supposed to ask. 

#jack daniels x you #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels au #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #kingsman golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[ladamedusoif]

Masterlist

Header - and slogan - by @agentjackdaniels

Hi there! I’m Rose (she/her/they), I’m 40 and I write fics - described with complete accuracy as “ethical porn for nerdy types” - for Pedro Pascal characters.

This is an 18+ blog so, for safety’s sake, minors should not access the content below.

I love hearing from readers! All comments, reblogs, likes, DMs, and asks are very much appreciated.

If you’d like to be notified about new fics and instalments, please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit - taglists aren’t working well at the moment so this is the easiest way to keep up.

I also cross-publish to AO3 if that's your preferred reading platform.

I do block empty/untitled/ageless blogs so, if that’s you and you’re a real person, just drop me a message - or, better still, populate your blog (you don’t need to be totally specific about your age) with a few things. If you’re not sure how, just ask! I’m happy to help and I’m sure others will be too!

Thank you so much for reading!

Visiting (Professor!Ben College AU - in progress)

Pairing: Professor!Ben x OFC Lydia (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, European art historian Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in the small New England college town of Barrow. She’s planning to spend a year there on leave of absence from her permanent job at home, expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor at Barrow College, a small liberal arts institution. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic Literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Rating: Explicit (18+)

See the main Series Masterlist for specific warnings and content notes.

Tempered in the Fire (Blacksmith!Din Djarin AU short series - in progress)

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Rating: Mature (series); Explicit (18+, later chapters)

See the Series Masterlist for specific warnings and content notes.

Gentleman Thief - The Heritage Crimes Universe (The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) - in progress)

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: He stole a priceless ruby after your first date. You reunited after the museum's winter ball. And now? Something keeps pulling you into the orbit of the world's greatest (ethical) gentleman thief.

Rating: Explicit (18+)

See the Series Masterlist for specific warnings and notes.

A Merry Fic-Mas - a Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar

31 days. 31 stories (hopefully). 12 Pedro characters.

Inspired by this set of December/holiday themed prompts.

Rating: Teen/Mature/Explicit (see individual chapters for warnings and content notes).

20/20 - no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Optometrist F!Reader

Summary: After months of pestering from Sarah, Joel finally concedes that he might to get his eyesight checked and makes an appointment at your optometrist practice. He really doesn’t want glasses, though.

Rating: 18+; not explicit as such but implied; see the warnings on the original story

Café Crème - Javier Peña x f!reader

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Javier likes mornings at your place for more than just coffee.

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI; see more notes on the original post)

A Cup of Kindness, Yet - Javier Peña x f!Reader

Part of the brilliant @pickled-pena writing challenge - check out the blog for the whole masterlist.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Another Auld Lang Syne in Laredo, twenty years after your first with Javi.

Rating: Teen (see notes and warnings on the original)

My Kiss, Only For You - The Thief x Museum Guide f!reader

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x Museum Guide F!Reader

Summary: You’ve noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on his favourite exhibit.

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI; see more notes on the original)

For the Night - Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Pairing: Agent Ortega (The Sixth Gun) x F!Sex Worker Reader

Summary: You might not be one of the “sweet young things” in the whorehouse any more, but a seemingly reluctant special agent helps remind you of your worth.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ (see specific warnings on the post).

Silvered - Detective Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Word count: ~ 800 words

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI; see specific warnings on the story)

Summary: Tim Rockford’s talented silver tongue has a reputation, in more ways than one.

Gentleman Cowboy - Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Word count: 3500 words

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI; see specific warnings on the story

Summary: A solo getaway, a whiskey for one, and a very charming cowboy in the big city.

Able - Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI; reader is disabled; see more specific warnings on the story.

Word Count: ~3.7k

Room Service - Dave York x F! Reader

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: You’re at one of those generic conference hotels to meet a man you know only as Dave.

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI; more specific warnings on the story

Word Count: ~2.3k

Coup de Foudre - Lucien Flores x F!Reader

Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader

Summary: Caught in a sudden storm on a break in Paris, you and Lucien race back to the hotel room.

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI; specific warnings on the story

Word Count: ~1.1k

Part of the April Showers Challenge organised by @undercoverpena

#ladamemasterlist #fic masterlist #Pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña fanfiction #visiting fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #no outbreak!joel miller #the thief x f!reader #the thief casillero del Diablo #narcos fic #mr ben snl #mr ben x OFC #professor!ben #professor!ben x OFC #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian au #tempered in the fire fic #blacksmith!din djarin #agent ortega #agent ortega fanfiction #tim rockford fanfiction #agent jack whiskey daniels #dave york fanfiction #dave york x f!reader #lucien flores fanfiction

[covetyou]

a pedro pascal character circus AU

Ladies and gentlefolk, adults of all ages, come one, come all, to the Carnal-val.

Witness the most spectacular sights, jaw-dropping feats of depravity, and awe-inspiring liberties taken with Pedro characters.

general warnings: smut, different reader each fic unless otherwise specified, no Y/N

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for fic updates

send in the clown - 4.1k You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown.

jester little bit more - 4.4k Dieter drives you to distraction all day, so you go to give him what for, only to get more than you bargained for in return

jack of all trades - 4.5k A trip to the circus goes awry thanks to your meddling not-quite-nephews and a handsome stranger in a cowboy hat.

Bravo the Clown edit by @iamasaddie

#fic: carnal-val #circus AU #masterlist #coveted fics #dieter bravo x you #agent whiskey x you

[tickle-bugs]

The Ol' Kentucky Welcome

Summary: Eggsy’s attitude gets him into trouble at Statesman HQ. Whiskey and Tequila show him how they handle mouthy recruits with too much pride.

Anon: Hey!  Love your work.  I was trying to think of something I haven't read.  So, kingsman and golden circle.  Maybe eggsy, whiskey, and Tatum s characters get real drunk one night, start teasing each other and a full out brawl of a tickle fight happens!!!  You can do it!!!  Thanks! 

Loose handwaving at and spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Becoming a Kingsman had done wonders for Eggsy’s impulse control and sense of self. He’s got restraint now, and better judgement—he doesn’t blindly chase a whim without considering the consequences first. 

This is what he tells himself as he poaches a bottle of premium Statesman Reserve whiskey from a supply closet rather ominously labeled ‘This Ain’t For Sharing, Friend’. He makes sure to shuffle the bottles to disguise the large gap left behind on the shelf.

He settles in at the Statesman briefing room table, loosening his tie and shirt collar. He unbuttons his jacket and, in a rare flash of bad manners, kicks his feet up onto one of the nearby chairs.

The thought of Harry scolding him for it tugs at chest. 

“Now what do we have here?” Whiskey whistles lowly, ducking into the doorway. Tequila fits in beside him. Eggsy gives a mocking salute before popping the cork on the bottle. He grabs a polished crystal glass from a platter on the table and pours himself a hefty bit. 

“Looks to me like we’ve got a thief, Whiskey.” Tequila arches his brow. “Y’ain’t learned your lesson yet, Galahad?”

“Gentlemen.” Eggsy smirks and lifts his glass. The sharp kiss of the liquor burns his tongue, but it washes back with a smoky smoothness unlike anything he'd ever tried. He smacks his lips loudly, enjoying the slight twitch of Whiskey’s eyebrow in response.

“Thought you fancy-types were supposed to be polite.” Whiskey puts his hands on his hips. 

“And I thought you brutish types couldn’t make something so delicious.” Eggsy angles the glass in the light. The liquid seems to glow. 

Tequila ducks past Whiskey and takes a seat at the table, helping himself to a glass. He clinks glasses with Eggsy and they share another sip. Both of them sigh in unison, sinking deeper into their chairs. Whiskey throws Eggsy’s feet off his chair and takes a seat. 

“You’re lucky I ain’t reportin’ you to Ginger Ale for theft.” Whiskey fixes himself a glass. He takes off his hat and rests it on the table. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

“Report me for what?” Eggsy cocks his head. “You fine, upstanding gentlemen cracked open a bottle of your own reserve to share with your guest and I just had to say yes. Would hate to be impolite.”

Whiskey glares. Eggsy sips innocently. 

“I like this motherfucker, Whiskey.” Tequila laughs, muffling himself in his fist. Whiskey shifts his glare. 

“‘Course you do. You can’t keep your mug outta trouble to save your life.” 

“Least my mug ain’t ugly,” Tequila grumbles. Eggsy snorts. Whiskey turns to fish for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. As he leans forward, a silver shine peeks out of his pants pocket. Eggsy gently plucks a shiny lighter from Whiskey’s pocket and tucks it into his own. 

“Champagne mentioned you’re a cheeky bugger.” Eggsy knocks shoulders with Tequila and winks.

“I dunno what that means.” Tequila frowns. They both watch Whiskey fumble around for the lost lighter and keep smooth, straight expressions. 

“You get into shit. He’s fond of you?” Eggsy gestures at him. Tequila nods. 

“Yeah, well…he wasn’t always. I’ve always been a bit of a firecracker. Didn’t make the best choices. Got people hurt. Built up a reputation for bein’ a problem, and Champagne started makin’ me own it.” Tequila watches his whiskey swirl in his glass. Eggsy hums thoughtfully.

“Sounds like Harry. He didn’t let me get away with shit. If I did something reckless, it was my arse on the line. But sometimes it paid off.” Eggsy smiles and thinks of stealing Harry’s cab on his way out of initiation. 

“To good mentors.” Tequila inclines his head respectfully and raises his glass. Eggsy clinks their glasses together. 

The three of them pass the time draining the bottle and looking out over the twinkling lights of the distillery buildings. A boyish mischief settles into Tequila, one that grows as the liquor in the bottle sinks. Whiskey starts to slur his words, but he maintains a hunter’s focus. 

“Tell me somethin’, Eggsy. What brought you to Kingsman?” Whiskey watches him over the rim of his glass. His stare is piercing. 

“Hm. Harry did. Not so different from Tequila, I reckon. I’d made a right fuckin’ mess and Harry saved me from it. Gave me a job. He saw something in me that no one else did.” Eggsy traces his fingers along the edge of his cup. He glances absently towards Harry’s cell and sighs quickly. Whiskey follows his gaze. 

“Did your lepidopterist friend teach you to have sticky fingers, or do you just like causin’ problems?” Whiskey holds his hand out. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hands over the stolen lighter.

“I’ve always been good at nicking things. S’fun.” Eggsy grins and produces Whiskey’s wallet. Whiskey grumbles under his breath and snatches it. 

“Feels like you’re the only one of your people that ain’t all hoity-toity. What other secrets are you hiding?” Tequila leans forward. The question grates against Eggsy’s better instincts. He searches Tequila’s face for the slightest bit of ill will. All that sticks is the way light catches softly on his eyes. Eggsy hums and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think.

“Well, my girlfriend bein’ a princess isn’t much of a secret anymore, so…I was a gymnast for a bit.” Eggsy grins. Tequila’s eyes light up and he starts snapping in Whiskey’s direction. For each snap, Whiskey gives a disgruntled hm until eventually they’re just swatting at each other. 

“Whiskey, don’t we have them flippy bars down in the gym?” Tequila sniffs, blinking as the liquor hits his sinuses. Eggsy perks up. A spark of excitement picks up atop the warm flush of liquor in his stomach. 

“We do. For Statesman agents. Y’know Rum and Cognac get real touchy ‘bout their stuff.” Whiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re workin’ together now, ain’t we? ‘Sides, Rum and Cognac ain’t here. Let’s walk him down there. I wanna see what he can do.” Tequila claps Eggsy on the shoulder. Eggsy gives his best winning smile. Whiskey grumbles, then downs the rest of his glass. 

“Fuck it. Fine. Five minutes.” 

…

They stumble down to the Statesman training facility, passing by a very tired Ginger Ale who opts not to ask why Eggsy’s wearing Tequila’s hat (pretty simple, it’s ‘cause he nicked it). Whiskey puts his thumb to a scanner and the wall unfolds for them. 

The lights click on in rows, lighting the industrial space. Eggsy gasps like a kid on Christmas morning. 

Sophisticated weight training and combat equipment sit in neat rows. Eggsy locks in directly past that, drifting unconsciously towards a heaping pile of chalk bags. Pommel horses, beams, bars, and hanging rings sprawl out on a spring mat, all in pristine condition. A few launchpads and trampolines lay near the equipment. Eggsy laughs incredulously as he takes it in. Nostalgia flutters in his chest. 

Eggsy immediately unbuttons his shirt, folding it cleanly and crisply. He shoves it and the cowboy hat into Tequila’s arms, adjusts his tank top, then works to unlace his shoes. The moment his feet are free, he sprints for one of the springboards. He hits it clean, just like he’d learned, and pushes off the vault, twisting through the air. His landing is a bit messy, but it’s functional, and he takes off to the parallel bars next.

The alcohol writhes in his system, but he doesn’t care. How can he? It’s been years. Coach’d told him he was good enough for the fucking Olympics and he hadn’t touched a set of bars since. The flex of the bars is a comfort to him. He flips and twirls, holding crisp handstands and tucks through muscle memory alone.

He dismounts beautifully from the parallel bars to the pleasant thrum of adrenaline and a smattering of applause. 

“Hoowee, that was somethin’!” Tequila ruffles Eggsy’s hair, destroying the last hold of the gel on his head. Eggsy laughs and swats him away. 

“Hats off to you, kid. Takes a lot of skill to pull that off.” Whiskey nods in respect. Eggsy returns it. 

“I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were gonna fall on your ass. I’m impressed.” Tequila slugs his shoulder with a brassy laugh. 

“Thanks, Tequila.” Eggsy grins roguishly. “Mind givin’ me a boost?” 

“Sure.” Tequila follows Eggsy over to the high bar. Whiskey loudly clears his throat. 

“Boys, this has been…eye-openin’, but we really should get goin’. Early start tomorrow, I imagine. And this one’ll be fit to collapse when the time difference catches up.” Whiskey inclines his head towards Eggsy. 

“Sorry, bruv? Can’t hear you all the way over there.” Eggsy gestures to his ear with a cheeky grin. 

“I said—“

“No, no. If you have something to say, come whisper it in my fucking ear.” Eggsy snickers, hearing Merlin’s voice in his head. Whiskey rolls his eyes and saunters over. 

“Look, I respect you ‘cause Champagne respects you. Other than that, you’re still a brat that oughta fall into line. Let’s turn in for the night. Both of you.” Whiskey raises his eyebrow. The honey tones of his voice make his annoyance all the more amusing. 

“What’re you gonna do about it? Get me with your skipping rope?” Eggsy smirks. Tequila mutters a quiet aw hell and takes a step back. 

“Maybe I will, you little shit.” 

Eggsy comes to terms with a number of things about himself in that moment, and he puts them all away to process sober. Instead, he gestures for Tequila to give him a hand and reaches up for the bar. 

Tequila picks him up by the waist, and it’s not the smooth, assisted lift he’s used to. It’s the clumsy grip of a drunk surprised by weight. Tequila does lift Eggsy up to the bar, but at the cost of his dignity— he spasms and makes a high-pitched noise when Tequila’s fingers press into his waist.  

In hindsight, he should’ve seen the way Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at that. 

“What the hell was that?” Tequila squints up at him. 

“Nothin’. Thought you were gonna drop me. Bugger off.” Eggsy kicks weakly in Tequila’s direction. He backs up, hands raised. Whiskey steps in, hands on his belt. 

“Get off the bar, Eggsy.” Whiskey sniffs authoritatively. The logical Kingsman agent buried in Eggsy’s brain sets off warning bells, but Drunk Eggsy, who is obviously of much sounder mind, ignores it. 

“Make me, Whiskey.” Eggsy starts to swing in the space he has. Not enough to kick anyone, but enough to look like he will. He manages to rotate clumsily around the bar once, then hangs back down in front of Whiskey. 

“You want me to embarrass you in front of your new friend? Okay.” Whiskey steps up to Eggsy and makes a show of sizing him up. Then, quicker than the draw of his pistols, his hands latch onto Eggsy’s sides and squeeze until he’s screaming and plummeting off the bar. Eggsy’s short life flashes before his eyes as he falls bodily into Tequila’s arms. 

“Are you fucking mental?” Eggsy goes to shove Whiskey, but Tequila holds him back. 

“Woah, watch that mouth of yours!” Whiskey laughs, eyes glittering. “You told me to make you. Your wish is my command, friend.”

Eggsy kicks, trying to break Tequila's hold, and he catches Whiskey right in the balls. He makes a noise like a wounded donkey and folds over. Eggsy snickers. Whiskey whips his reddening face up and glares. 

“Now you’ve done it. Tequila!” Whiskey tosses something his way and he catches it. Eggsy barely has time to react before his arms are bound and hoisted in the air above his head. His toes brush the ground. The bar above him creaks in protest but does not give. 

Whiskey puts his hands on his hips again. Eggsy wonders if that’s a cowboy thing or an American one. 

“Skippin’ rope, bitch.” Whiskey grins, sharklike. “Now…you done with the whole insubordination routine or am I gonna have to give you the ol’ Kentucky Welcome?” 

Eggsy snorts derisively. He tests his bindings. They hold steady. Fear starts to pierce through his liquid courage. 

“I’m honored, bruv, but I’m in a committed relationship—“

Whiskey clicks his tongue and crowds into Eggsy’s space. He immediately steels himself for violence—what else would there be besides violence? He’s been jumped before. He’s no stranger to the predatory tilt of Whiskey’s head. He sets his jaw and glares. 

“When Tequila first joined up, he carried a bit of them clownin’ instincts with him. That didn’t fly with Champagne. We had to figure out a way to take him down a few pegs without hurtin’ him. So, the Kentucky Welcome was born.” 

“Aw, fuck you, Whiskey. Seriously, man.” Tequila pipes up from behind Eggsy. 

“What does this have to do with me? I know you Americans love to hear yourself talk, but I’m not interested.” Eggsy tries to pull free. Nothing. Whiskey’s gaze gets softer, more mischievous. The change is deeply unnerving. 

“Well, you remind me of Tequila. You’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders, but you’re a little shit. So I’m gonna deal with you the same way we used to deal with him. Last chance, kid. You comin’ quietly or are we gonna have to drag you?” 

Eggsy flinches when Whiskey reaches for him—years of habit die hard—and prepares himself for the hard crunch of knuckles into his ribs. Instead, he’s met with a gentle and persistent scritching. 

A confused noise bubbles up at the back of Eggsy’s throat, quickly chased by a wobbly smile. He ducks his head and bites his lip. 

Oh what the fuck? 

Kingsman had taught him to resist the most painful and stressful of scenarios, but they’d never taught him what to do about this. Tilde’s maybe the only person who knows that he’s ticklish, and even then…he can convince her to let him go by kissing her senseless. Eggsy doubts that’ll work here. 

“Uh oh, Galahad. Don’t tell me something’s botherin’ you?” Whiskey presses an insincere hand to his heart. Eggsy’s brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that Tequila’s the one scratching at his ribs. 

“Fffffuck you.” Eggsy exhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes--nope, that’s worse. So much worse. 

Whiskey tickles under his arms and Eggsy yelps, bright laughter tumbling after. It shouldn’t be this bad—Tilde’s done far worse to him in jest, but somehow the teasing grin of his begrudging allies gets under his skin. His arms flex as he tries to pull himself up and away, but his strength collapses with every breath. 

“Aw, y’all are twins.” Whiskey leans around Eggsy to smirk at Tequila. 

“Whiskey.” Tequila’s languished tone being hilarious really doesn’t help things. Eggsy’s entire face scrunches as he tries to find his way back towards composure. A hiccup sneaks into his chest, and then he’s giggling incessantly. His chest feels like the sparklers he’d run around with as a kid, bright and fizzling and dissolving with every breath. 

“Y’know, I wish I had tried this when I first caught y’all. Prolly woulda gone a hell of a lot faster.” Tequila’s voice floats past Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy manages a giggly growl and a halfhearted headbutt in his direction. Tequila tuts at him and folds his fingers into Eggsy’s waistline. 

He makes a noise at a pitch that threatens to shatter every lightbulb in the room. Tequila’s calloused fingers strum Eggsy’s nerves like guitar strings and it tickles, fucking shit—

Tequila hooks his fingers just so and Eggsy kicks. Whiskey snags his ankle before a second devastating impact can occur. They make tortuous eye contact. 

“Whiskey—“ Eggsy attempts to appeal to the cowboy’s humanity with what Merlin fondly calls his nuclear puppy eyes. 

Grinning wickedly, Whiskey shakes his head and reaches for his trapped foot. 

Eggsy’s eyes bug out of his head. 

He wrenches his leg free, twists his hands, and flips upwards. Managing a gold-worthy handstand into a dismount, he frees his wrists and lands smoothly. Eggsy playfully curtsies. Tequila starts to clap. Whiskey smacks him upside the head.

“Alright, I’m done playin’ around. Grab him. If we’re caught down here at this hour it’ll be my hide.” Whiskey gestures for Tequila to step in. He does so, still a little off-kilter from the liquor. 

Eggsy rushes in, expecting a clumsier rendition of the fighting style he’d been so painfully introduced to. Instead, Tequila smoothly blocks his blows and hoists Eggsy over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. One of his arms locks behind Eggsy’s thighs as they start to walk for the door. It takes him a moment to even process being upside-down. The sway of Tequila’s gait shakes some blood into his brain.

“Aw, y’all are twins.”

“—deal with you the same way we used to deal with him—“

A lightbulb clicks on in Eggsy’s head. He shouldn’t…but he could…but he shouldn’t—

He shoves his hands under Tequila’s arms. Before he can blink or breathe, they’re in a heap on the ground. Tequila’s cackling dead weight presses the air from Eggsy’s chest.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight, bruv.” Eggsy’s eyebrows raise. Tequila shrieks at him in response. Eggsy manages to wiggle free and hop lightly to his feet as Tequila gathers his wits. 

“There’s one of you and two of us. Be wise.” Whiskey cracks his neck. Eggsy looks over at Tequila and smirks devilishly. Tequila pales. 

“I like those odds.” 

The flurry of motion as they charge each other sets off the ‘fight’ center in his brain, but there is some comfort in knowing no harm is on the table. Eggsy flips and twists out of their grasp, taking advantage of his flexibility to pull off increasingly ridiculous dodges. He neatly sweeps both Whiskey and Tequila’s legs out from under them. 

“Little help?” Whiskey gestures lamely at Tequila. 

“Nah, I’m done. Y’all are nuts.” Tequila lays on his back, putting his hat down over his face. He folds his arms behind his head. Whiskey curses at him. Tequila gives him the finger. 

Whiskey grabs Eggsy by the back of the shirt--really, he should know better--and Eggsy sweeps him again. Whiskey’s ready for it this time, though, and he manages a pin faster than Eggsy can roll away. Whiskey plants himself on Eggsy’s back like he’s settling on a bull. 

“Aren’t you tired? Goddamn.” Whiskey sighs. Eggsy winces at the texture of the mat against his cheek. 

It reminds him of Roxy and agonizing training sessions, of hours of sweat and bruising and his face stinging from being slammed into the mat. Even past the wave of grief, he remembers the shape of her smile when she would lecture him about letting her pin him on his stomach. 

“Indefensible,” she’d say, prodding the back of his ribs. “You’re a sitting duck like this.”

And every time he’d roll his eyes, hooking his fingers behind her knees--

Oh. Hm. 

As best as he can, he reaches back and latches onto Whiskey’s thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Whiskey hollers and tries to phase right through the floor. Eggsy rolls them over and pursues, squeezing and squeezing until Whiskey is a wheezing pile on the floor. 

Eggsy flips onto his feet. He knows he’s imagining the fond, ghostly squeeze on his shoulder, but he puts his hand on the spot anyways. 

“Now I’m tired. Goodnight, fellas.” Eggsy salutes with a wide grin, stepping over both cowboys. He gathers his belongings and saunters for the door, whistling pleasantly. 

Whiskey rubs a hand over his face as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Kid’s fuckin’ lucky I like him,” Whiskey grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

“Might not wanna speak too soon. He took your hat.” Tequila puts his own ten-gallon back on his head and gestures towards the door with a whistle. Whiskey growls and shoots to his feet. 

“Motherfucker! Eggsy!”

#my fics #this fic truly wrote itself. i blacked out and it just happened #and then i realized i didnt properly read the prompt and then rewrote it lol #is this good? *vague mumbling and shrugging*. did i have fun? absolutely #kingsman #ticklish!eggsy #eggsy unwin #ticklish!whiskey #agent whiskey #ticklish!tequila #agent tequila #<- contenders for some of my silliest tags #theres an au in my head where roxy merlin eggsy and harry play cowboy with the statesman agents for a while #mostly bc i want cowboy roxy... #anyways ive wanted to write kingsman forever! thx for the prompt hope you enjoy <3 #also anon 'you can do it!!! thanks!!!' has been in my head since you sent the prompt. like yea i CAN do it!!! thank YOU!!!!

[patternedlantern]

Keep You Safe - A Marcus Moreno Statesman!AU

Pairing: Statesman Agent Marcus Moreno x Statesman Agent Reader x Agent Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

What’s this? Pat’s writing fanfic now? Well… no, not exactly. 😅 Consider this a loose concept for a fic that I’d want to write if I had a knack for writing, inspired solely by Pedro’s Emmy’s look. As soon as I saw it, it reminded me of Marcus Moreno and the costumes from the Kingsman movies. My brain’s been unable to think about anything else for the last couple days so I'm hoping that setting some of my headcanons free will help free up some brain space haha

Not really any warnings, it’s all pretty brief anyway. Highlights include: pining/unspoken feelings, fake dating, a love triangle dynamic that evolves into polyamory. The Boys keep their canon backstories for the most part. Reader is gender neutral.

The set up:

After sustaining an injury during his last mission, Heroic-turned-Statesman agent Marcus Moreno finds himself on temporary desk duty. He’s promised his daughter that he’ll stay out of harm’s way until he fully recovers. Desperately needing to feel useful while stuck behind the scenes, he's excited to receive his next assignment - as your new handler.

You have been a Statesman field agent for a few years now and have gone through your fair share of handlers - this isn’t your first rodeo. Nonetheless you appreciate Marcus’s unique experience and perspective as a former superhero. He’s kind, patient, and respectful, and the two of you become close rather quickly (while still keeping things professional).

While you’re away on missions, Marcus spends most of his time with Ginger, monitoring mission statuses and tech needs. His powers and weapons knowledge make him a good fit for the tech specialist team. Marcus and Ginger get along so well that their coworkers begin to joke that Ginger is his work wife. And yeah, they’re good friends, but she’s seen how he gets when you’re gone, steadfastly studying the wall of screens. He only has eyes for you. 

Eventually, you get assigned to an undercover mission where you’ll be posing as one half of a romantic couple. Your lucky partner? One Jack “Whiskey” Daniels. You’ve worked with Jack a couple times before and while you find him to be a bit much sometimes, he’s charming and thoughtful under all the bluster.

Marcus, on the other hand, is apprehensive. He hasn’t met Jack yet but he’s heard the gossip around HQ about our flirty, larger-than-life cowboy. Ginger’s not-exactly-glowing comments about him certainly don’t help either, but she assures Marcus it’ll be fine.

Cue the mission with all its potential for tension and pining:

from Marcus having to watch the person he secretly has feelings for “fall in love” with someone else. Seeing the mission unfold and realizing that Jack’s not quite what his reputation suggests

to you actually slowly falling for Jack throughout the course of the mission (because it’s a fake dating story after all) but also having Marcus’s voice low and steady in your ear, always reminding you of his presence and the task at hand

to Jack knowing this is a fake arrangement (and that you and Marcus kinda sorta have a “thing” going) but wanting it to be real anyway, feeling his heart stirring for the first time in a very long time. 

And obviously there’d be all the classic tropes. Couple practice. First kisses. One bed. A fancy gala. You know.

Maybe at one point, Jack becomes briefly incapacitated and Marcus has to step in and take his place for a moment to keep up ✨the ruse✨ Because they do look awfully similar from afar and who’s gonna notice really...

Something something the bond between two men, who’ve both experienced the loss of their previous partners, unexpectedly finding new love. The both of them witnessing the lengths the other is willing to go to to protect that love.

And then eventually the three of them work it all out and get together and fuck nasty. the end :)

#marcus moreno x reader #agent whiskey x reader #marcus moreno x reader x agent whiskey #Pat makes moodboards #and headcanons now I guess #headcanons? plot points? idk what to call them or what to do with them. I just need to get them OUT lol #no fic just vibes #possibly art or more moodboards at some point idk #keep you safe au #x reader

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Congratulations on your milestone!!! If you're still taking microdrabble requests... How can I, as a tattooed girl, turn down Mr. Daniels in a tattoo parlor AU? x

Here we are, my first ever AU (if you don't count Palomino!). This was incredibly fun to write, thank you Lucy for sending in this request. Now, I didn't have the word count to talk about what Jack has tattooed on his arms, but if you'd like to know, you know what to do 😉

Jack Daniels x tattoo parlour AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 360ish words | warnings: mature themes but not explicit, Jack is a menace any universe he's in, mentions of alcohol consumption

You stomp your foot, the two glasses of wine you had with dinner making you more petulant than usual, jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. 'What do you mean no?'

The proprietor who introduced himself as Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels gives you a stern look from under the brim of his black cowboy hat. 'Exactly what that means, sugar. No.'

'This is a tattoo parlour. Aren't you supposed to give the customer what they want?'

With a sigh, he leans on his palms on the counter, and you can't help but run your eyes over this man. He's wearing a white wifebeater under a thin leather jacket, sleeves pushed up to the crease of his elbows. His forearms flex, sending a ripple through his full sleeves tattoos with the movement.

'But you don't know what you want,' he points out.

'So what? Just tattoo whatever on me - I don't care!'

He scoffs. 'Oh, I ain't fallin' for that again. Nearly cost me my shop last time.'

'C'mon. I just want a small tattoo,' you whine. 'I'm on my Eat, Pray, Love journey.'

'In Kentucky?'

You try a different tact, softening your eyes and drawing your brows into a pleading angle. 'I just want to do something stupid. For once.'

At that, he arches an eyebrow, and his whole demeanour changes. A lazy arrogance settles into his handsome face, and his lips pull into a grinning smirk as he traps you with something bordering on lecherous in his gaze.

It really shouldn't work on you - but it does.

'Well, well, well, you don't say, sugar,' he drawls. 'If you wanted to do somethin' stupid - why don't you just do me?'

Three quarters of an hour later, sweaty and half-undressed on a cushioned tattoo table, you grin at the man slumped on top of you through dilated pupils, your body sluggish with a bone-deep satisfaction that you haven't felt for a long, long time.

'I know what tattoo I want to get now,' you declare, still breathing heavily when you reach up to push a damp curl from his forehead.

'Is that so?' he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple, but otherwise showing no intention to move off you. 'And what might that be?'

'Your face. On my neck.'

Jack laughs, the sound deep and velvety against your warm cheek as his eyes crinkle. 'Now that's definitely somethin' stupid.'

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey au #jack daniels au #tattoo parlor au

[absurdthirst]

Unwillingly Bonded {Alpha!Agent Whiskey x Omega!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7k

Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamics, heats, compulsion to breed, Alpha Whiskey asks permission, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, marking, mating/bonding, abandonment, oral sex (female receiving) knotting, angst, pregnancy, labor, child birth, Jack is a jerk, PTS, trauma, medical trauma, labor complications, hospitals, medically induced comas, second chances.

Comments: On a mission, Agent Whiskey comes across an omega in heat, you. Working you through your need, he bonds with you by marking you as his. Only Jack doesn't want another omega, even as much as it hurts you.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia. 

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Agent Whiskey MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Jack checks his watch, not hearing any warnings from Ginger so he knows it’s fine to go into the house. It’s your average suburban house, nothing special, but the hard drive that contains most of the world’s nuclear codes on it is in there and Jack needs to get it so it can be destroyed. He works quietly and to get inside and that’s when it hits him. “Fuck.” He growls, both in frustration and arousal. That smell. Something he hasn’t smelled in years. An omega in heat and not just any omega…his omega. Instinct overcomes him as all thoughts of the hard drive are pushed aside as he stalks through the house, cock hard and aching and he slams the door to the bedroom open. Finding you spread out, sweat glistening on your skin as your fingers work in and out of your needy, aching cunt. You’re in heat and you look glorious. 

“Alpha, please.” You beg, recognizing who Jack is to you and he can’t stop himself, driven by an ancient need, he surges forward onto the bed, shrugging off his jacket as his lips meet yours.

This stranger appeals to you, his scent an instant comfort and a temptation. Left to ride out your incredibly painful heat alone, you had been sentenced to being unfulfilled, until his mouth watering scent had wafted to you. An alpha, your alpha. The pheromones make your omega keen for him, even as your body spasms under your own touch. He would be better, soothe you better. “I need you, alpha.” You mewl as he strips down, the clank of his belt making you whine as the musky scent of his aroused cock fills your nostrils.

Once Jack is naked, he is kneeling between your thighs, fingers sliding through your folds after knocking your digits away. “Don’t worry, omega. I’ve got you. Gonna take care of you.” He promises and wraps his slicked up fingers around his cock, positioning it at your entrance before he starts to slowly push inside of you with a soft groan.

“Alpha!” You don’t even know the man’s name that is pushing inside you but he is feeling perfect as he stretches out your needy cunt.

He isn’t soft or gentle, setting a harsh pace immediately to give you what you need. Jaw clenched as all thoughts except the way you feel around him leave his mind. The urge to bite you is already gnawing inside of him, but he focuses on making you feel good, his hand grabbing your thigh to lift it higher on his hip so he can push deeper inside of you.

“Oh fuck.” You choke out when he manages to feel like he's grinding even deeper inside you than he had originally. Better than anything your fingers could have done, his cock hits deep inside of you and makes you whimper every time he pushes deep and kisses your womb.

Jack can’t speak, the only thing coming from his mouth is growls as he furiously fucks you into the mattressl. He needs you to cum so his fingers find your clit, rubbing harsh circles and making him hiss when you clench down around him. “Omega.” He growls in warning, wanting you to cum for him.

You whine, deep in the back of your throat as you wrap your leg around the back of his thighs. It’s everything you needed and you can’t help but thank the gods that he showed up. The fire in your belly is eased every time he thrusts into you. Arching your back, you present your scent gland to him as you start to cum. Crying out in pleasure as your body shakes under his and stars flash white in your eyes.

“Fuckkkk.” Jack hisses, thrusting into you like a jackhammer and he leans down, unable to stop himself as his teeth sink into your neck. Marking you as his for all to see, his omega, his mate. He can’t stop himself as he claims you as his and his knot swells, catching inside of you until he cums, painting your walls with his hot seed.

The wordless cry of pain and pleasure is loud, your body fusing with his as you feel his teeth sink into your gland. The turmoil and anxiety that comes with being an unbonded omega instantly quelling as your heart stops a beat and starts to synchronize to his. Mated together and bonded so that your happiness, your future, was intertwined with his.

Jack rides out his orgasm and he withdraws his teeth, licking over the mark he’s left on your skin. “I’m Jack.” He introduces himself and you smile sleepily, telling him your name. Jack shifts to lay on his back, still locked inside of you as he lets you lay on his chest, his eyes closing. He can feel your satisfaction and it sends him into a deep sleep, his arms wrapped around you to keep you safe in your slumber.

When you wake up, you notice immediately that he is no longer inside you. Disoriented, you sit up and look around blearily, finding him getting dressed again. “Alpha?” You croak, frowning. “Where are you going?” You shuffle to the end of the bed and start to get up so you can dress as well. Your heat is still in swing, but if you need to leave, you can control yourself until you get where he wants you to be.

“I gotta go, sweetheart. Gotta head back to my work. I got a report to type up and shit to do. It was a pleasure makin’ your acquaintance, but this cowboy has places to be.” He says, putting his hat on his head.

“You aren’t leaving me.” You shake your head and hurry to put your clothes on. “You marked me, mated me.” You remind him, his teeth marks are embedded in your scent gland for everyone to see. “I’ll be ready in just a minute. I’ll pack my things.”

Jack huffs and shakes his head, pissed that he marked you. His body is aching for you even now and he can feel your anger at him as you shuffle to get ready and grab a bag. “I didn’t - I don’t want a mate.” He murmurs to himself, deciding to search around for the hard drive he came in here to find. “What?” You ask, turning towards him and he shakes his head, “nothin’. Just get your shit.”

You hurry up and finish packing, shoving your things into a bag. You hated being here and had hoped to be able to leave, finding that opportunity with the alpha who had marked you. “It’s in the safe behind the dresser.” You tell him. “The hard drive you’re here for.” 

“What? What do you know about that?” He demands, looking up and frowning. 

You shrug. “They wanted to keep whatever was in that hard drive safe. Figuring an omega in heat would distract whoever was looking for it.”

He’s shocked but can’t deny the idea is ingenious. He nods and walks over to the dresser, “you know the code, omega?” He asks, his voice a little demanding and you nod, giving him the code. 

“It’s my birthday.” You confess, “my brother…he’s the one you’re looking for. He - he wants infamy and I- I wish he would stop being the bad guy. He kidnapped me, brought me here two days ago.” You confess and Jack nods, working on pushing the dresser aside so he can open the safe, taking out the hard drive.

You bite your lip and watch Jack, the cowboy alpha who has claimed you. He’s handsome. His thick mustache is perfectly groomed and his Stetson fits the jeans, button up and sports jacket. Right down to the double six shooters he wears and the cowboy boots on his feet. He’s got to be some kind of police, not sure who, but he’s here because your brother is a bad man. You don’t have any love for him, he had been willing to let any alpha abuse you to keep his secrets.

He takes out one of his weapons, not trusting you just yet despite being bonded to you. He is waiting for an ambush now that he has the hard drive and he grabs your hand, pulling you along through the house. He’s cautious of any traps, people that are gonna jump out at him but he guesses that would’ve happened while he had his cock inside of you. “Come, omega.” He says, guiding you out of the house and to the car he has waiting to take him to the airfield.

You are relieved that you are leaving, clinging to him as he speaks to someone through an invisible speaker somewhere on him. “Alpha.” You hear a helicopter approaching and your eyes widen when you see it burst on the horizon. “Is that for us?”

“Yes it is, darlin’. You afraid of flyin’?” He asks you and you shake your head. “Good.” He nods and he guides you over to the car, helping you in. It’s a short drive across the small town to the airfield and he helps you out after he exits the car. The wind from the helicopter is strong and he keeps you close as he guides you to the bird, wanting you to be safe and away from this damn town.

You watch the houses grow smaller and turn towards your alpha, cuddling into his side. You feel comforted by his presence, his scent. Your nose pressed against his scent gland and you sigh, enjoying the waft of satisfaction you are getting from him. Wondering if it’s from his happiness on the mission he was on or from you, you can only guess.

Jack feels you relax against him and he allows himself to comfort you but he takes his phone out to message Ginger to prepare his home for you. The helicopter ride doesn’t take long and soon he’s landing at the airfield for Statesman and he has the car waiting. He helps you off of the helicopter and to the awaiting car. “Come, omega. Let’s go home.” He says and helps you into the car, putting your bag in the trunk before he gets in and starts the engine.

His seed is still inside you and the idea of a home, a real home with your alpha, makes your omega preen. You eagerly look out the window, wondering what kind of home he has and the prospect of building a real nest for your heats appeals. Your family hasn’t been the best and you are glad that he marked you. “Where is our home?” You ask curiously.

“I have a farmhouse. My ma and pa had it built before I was born and it’s been mine ever since my ma passed away.” He reveals, having lived in the home on and off for the past ten years. It’s his childhood home and he hopes you’re happy there. The drive isn’t long and he’s soon pulling up outside the ranch house, “home sweet home.”

It’s a beautiful little thing, although it has an air of being abandoned. As if your alpha hadn’t spent much time here. That doesn’t matter, you will make it a soft landing for him, a haven from the cruel world. “Alpha, it’s beautiful.” You tell him breathlessly, charmed by the place. “Do we- would you mind if I changed things? Made it comfortable for you?”

Jack won’t argue with you, he will let you do what you want. “I want it to be comfortable for you.” Jack says and he opens the door for you after parking his bronco and he helps you inside with your bag. “I want you to make this your home.” He says after he turns on the lights and you frown, turning to look at him. 

“You mean our home?” You ask and he shakes his head, “I will be going to my apartment in the city. This is your home.””

“Alpha.” You look around in confusion. “You…you bonded with me. My place is where you are.” You know that it is possible to spend time apart, but any longer than a day is incredibly painful for a bonded alpha and omega. “Let me come with you to your apartment. I will make sure you are happy.”

“I - I can’t.” Jack shakes his head, shifting to sit down on the sofa and he takes his hat off to set it down on the coffee table. “I can’t stay with you, omega.” He says and you sit down next to him, “why not?” Your lower lip trembles and he feels your hurt.

“I- I was mated. I was twenty and she was my high school sweetheart. We were so in love and so young. We were bonded and we got married, she got pregnant. Then one night she went to a gas station and went inside to get a chocolate bar, one of her cravings, and she was shot by two drug addicts who wanted money and she got caught in the fray, she was killed when she was seven months pregnant. I- I can’t lose another omega. I never wanted to be mated again but then you- it was like I couldn’t control myself. I can’t be with you. I cannot go through that again.”

Your heart breaks, hating that he is unwilling to fulfill his duty to you. He had bonded with you and had no intention of keeping you with him. Curling away from him, you wrap your arms around yourself and cry, his rejection of you piercing through you like a knife. “Please.” You beg, closing your eyes to try to keep from reaching for him, or seeing the disgust in his eyes. “You are my alpha.”

He can feel your anger and sadness but it doesn’t sway him. The memory of his highschool sweetheart laying on the slab with her baby bump and his unborn son flashes in his mind and he won’t go through that again. He shakes his head again, “I’m sorry. I can’t stay with you. You’ll be safe here. I- I’ll come back to help you with your heats.”

You turn your back to him, unwilling to let him see you hurting even though he can smell it on you. “Don’t bother, alpha.” You manage to grit out. “I am sure that there are other places you would rather be.”

Jack doesn’t push, knowing you are going to hate him but hating him is better than you being dead. “Okay. If you need anything, I- you can call me on this phone.” He hands you the phone he has in his pocket. He can get another one from Ginger but the line is secure so you won’t be jeopardized by his enemies listening in. You choke on a sob and he doesn’t say anything, just stands up and makes his way to the door. “I’m sorry, omega. I didn’t - I never expected to be in this position. I didn’t even know you could - I barely survived losing my last mate. I cannot do it again. I’ll speak to you soon.” He half promises and steps out of the door and makes his way to his bronco.

Your heart shatters, every step he takes away from you burning you like a flame being held to your scent gland. Knowing that he has no intention of being with you makes you collapse onto the floor, sobbing. Distress pours off of you in waves and you wonder why he had marked you if he had no intention of keeping you. It would have been better to just fuck you and leave you there because now your happiness and your health is tied to a man who has no need for you.

Jack can feel your devastation through your bond but he tries to ignore it, the way his body is pushing him to go back and comfort you. He nearly died after he lost his last mate, he can’t go through that again. That was worse than what he’s feeling now. He swallows harshly, gripping the steering wheel as he makes his way to the compound to his apartment there so he can get away from you. This is for the best, it has to be.

You don’t know how long you lay on the floor of the house where Jack had abandoned you. Unable to do anything but mourn the rejection of your alpha, you don’t sleep or drink or eat as you wallow in the pain and misery. Unable to do anything but deal with the pain of his emotional and physical distance, you wonder if it would be better to just break the bond with him. 

**** 

It’s been weeks since Jack left you crying on his living room floor. The ache has become his constant companion but he ignores it, immersing himself in missions and trying to forget about his mate. He arrives back at the compound, exhausted from his last mission to Thailand when Ginger rushes up to him. “What’s wrong?” He asks, a frown on his face when Ginger shakes her head. 

“She needs you Jack. She’s in heat. She - she wants to - she doesn’t want to live anymore…she told me she can’t handle it.” Jack inhales sharply and shakes his head, running towards the parking garage. 

He speeds down the road, rain battering his windshield and lightning flashes in the clouds above. He’s desperate to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. He’s speeding when his engine starts to sputter. “No. No. Don’t fuckin’ - you fuckin’ piece of shit.” He growls, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He can’t waste another second so he gets out, running down the dusty drive to his ranch and he is soaked to the bone as he yells your name, “omega! Omega!” He shouts, stumbling onto the porch.

Inside the house, buried in your nest, you writhe in pain. Whimpering and crying as you imagine Jack’s voice, your Alpha’s voice ringing in your head. Calling for you. The faint remnants of his scent around the house are all you have left and you had gathered everything you could to make it feel like he was around you, but it was no use. The pain is much more intense now during your heat than when you had been unbonded, you don’t know if you can stand this. You had told him not to bother coming back, but your fingers shake as you reach for the prescription that the doctor had given you. Needing the sweet relief that it would bring and maybe peace. 

Jack runs through the house, drenched through and he’s stripping his jacket and shirt off, and he is hard already, his body aching for you when he smells the desperation coming off of you. “Omega. Omega. I'm sorry. Let me help you. Let me help you.” He pleads, his instincts driving him to help you and he’s desperate to help you. “Please. Tell me I can help you, omega.”

“Alpha!” You drop the bottle, surprised that he is here and you can’t help but think that he’s changed his mind, that that pain of being apart was too great for him like it had been for you. “Please alpha, I need you.” You beg, desperate for his touch and the soothing scent of his pheromones surrounding you. “Jack, please.”

He can’t deny you, even if he tries. He has to satisfy you. It’s in his DNA. He shoves his jeans down, kicking off his boots and he reaches for your thighs, pushing them apart so he can surge forward to bury his tongue in your cunt, his nose pressed against your clit.

“Ohhhh Alpha!” you scream in pleasure, the overwhelming flood of endorphins taking over and quenching the fire that has been crawling under your skin since Jack had left. He is a vital part of your physical and emotional health. Your fingers tear into his hair, curling around the strands and tugging as you roll your hips down into his face, grinding down on him. Desperate for more. “Please alpha, oh god, thank you, thank you for coming.” 

His hands grab your thighs, pushing them back so he can push his tongue deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. Taste so good.” He groans, pulling back for a moment until he’s surging forward again to wrap his lips around your clit to suck hard, wanting you to cum like this first.

You moan and writhe in your nest, feeling your body respond to his touch to the waves of determined pheromones that are pouring off of him. The pride that he feels every time your walls gush around his tongue and your orgasm slams through you without warning with the next suck of his mouth. Screaming his name, your body shakes and jerks from the force of your pleasure, your omega preening under the attention from her alpha after so long without him. 

The way you cum has his cock leaking with need for you, aching to put his knot inside of you. He groans your name and kisses up your body, taking your nipple into his mouth while he reaches down to grip his cock with his hand. Pumping himself a couple of times before he positions himself at your entrance, “omega.” He murmurs, kissing your scent gland as he pushes inside of you.

You groan, your limbs winding around him and you practically purr at the stretch of him. Thick and heavy inside you, he scratches an itch that you couldn’t manage yourself with any toy or your fingers. Your alpha, deep inside you, was exactly what you needed. “Alpha, please.” You beg prettily. “I need you to knot me. Pump me full of your cum.”

He can’t deny you any longer. Starting to move inside of you, he hisses your name and moves slow but deep, wanting to give you the relief he knows you need. His mind is clouded with your scent and the way your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. “Fuck, omega. Missed this.” He confesses, admitting to you and himself that he had thought about you during his self imposed solitude.

You can’t even chide him right now, not when he is giving you what you’ve wanted. What you need. It just means that he’s realized he was wrong and he will stay with you now. Or bring you with him. While the house and the grounds are lonely, you need to be with your alpha. “So good. I needed you. My alpha, fuck Jack, you feel so good.”

Jack groans when you moan his title and his name, your walls flutter around him and he moves a little faster inside of you, giving you what you need. “Fuck baby girl, oh my omega. So good. Feel so good.” He grunts into your jaw as his hips move inside of you. He’s missed this feeling and he knows he shouldn’t have stayed away from you.

The steady push of his cock inside you makes you keen, rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts. “It’s so good, alpha. Missed you. Needed you so badly. My nest needs to smell like you.”

He hums, “gonna make sure you’re satisfied. Gonna make cum over and over, sugar.” He promises as he moves within you, his hand gripping your thigh to push it further back against your stomach, wanting to be even deeper inside of you. “Need you to cum again, baby girl.” He murmurs, pressing his nose against your scent gland.

You whine, loving the attention and the promise of satisfaction. You need it. Your omega content as he fucks you steadily. Your fingers dig into his back, holding him close and you close your eyes to let him just take care of you. Despite him leaving, you trust him to care for you. “Want to be good for you, alpha.” You moan softly.

He groans, loving how you submit to him despite him abandoning you. His fingers slide between your bodies so he can rub your clit, desperate to make you cum and be satisfied after hearing of your despair from Ginger. He’s acting on animal instinct, wanting to feel you cum and moan his name, his title. “Cum for me, omega.” He orders, his voice rough.

You are completely helpless to do anything but cum for him. Shuddering when the first bolts of pleasure rock through you, your cunt clenches down on him like a vice, legs wrapped around him as you soak him in a torrent of your juices.

Jack feels like he’s complete when you cum around him. He knows he should be here for you but the memories of his late wife and unborn child stop him from opening up to you. He grits his teeth, pushing deep. It’s been too long since he came so he’s moving faster until he’s groaning out “omega” and painting your walls with his hot seed.

You whimper in pleasure, the heat of his cum flooding your womb and making you moan his name quietly. Your body starts to relax for the first time in months, the pain that has been so prevalent subsiding. “I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind, alpha.” You murmur quietly, caressing his back as he rides out his high.

Jack’s knot is caught inside of you as he works himself through his orgasm and he exhales shakily, closing his eyes. He knows he should’ve been here for you and he doesn’t want you to do anything stupid because he was selfish and decided to not be what you need. Your life depends on him being what you need and it kills him on a cellular level to feel your agony. “I’m sorry, ‘mega.” He murmurs, shifting to his side so he can curl around you.

You are exhausted, the pain has been draining and you snuggle back into his arms. “‘S okay.” You mumble sleepily, eyes starting to flutter closed. “Love you.” Even though you don’t know him, your very nature makes you love him, he’s your mate. The other half of your being and you feel complete now that his scent is surrounding you and comforting you.

****

“Fuck. Feel so good, omega. So fuckin’ tight, sugar.” Jack hisses as he rocks into you, moaning at the way you grip his cock inside of you, his hips hitting your ass as he fucks you from behind. It’s been two days since you left your nest for anything other than food and to shower quickly. Even then, Jack made sure his soapy hand was between your thighs to keep you satisfied. Sweat beads on his brow as he fucks you, his fingers digging into your hips.

You moan, bowing your back as he hits that wonderful little spot deep inside you and makes your thighs shake. The past two days have been pure bliss, falling asleep with his knot inside you and waking up to his tongue on your clit. The perfect alpha in every sense, he has made this heat the best you have ever experienced and the down times between sex have been filled with conversation. You’ve learned what he does, he’s an agent for a place called Statesman, intelligence work. Which you had kind of figured out after your meeting. “Jack, baby, alpha, I’m gonna cum.” You’ve learned he loves knowing he’s taking care of you, and you call him ‘alpha’.

“That’s it, darlin’. Cum for ole Jack. Cum for your alpha.” He orders, pushing deep inside of you and his hand slides down your stomach to press against your clit, wanting to hear your sweet cries as you clamp down on his cock and soak him. “Cum. For. Me.” He says through gritted teeth as he pushes deep inside of you.

You cry out loudly, collapsing down face-first into your nest and moaning as he continues to rock into you. Pushing you through your pleasure with every thrust of his hips. You feel the knot start to swell and your eyes close blissfully. “Fill me, alpha.” You beg, pushing your hips back. “I want your knot, please alpha, only you can make it feel so good.”

He grits his teeth, unable to deny you anything as he pushes deep, his knot catching and he groans your name as he cums, his seed spilling inside of you as he leans down to press his nose to your scent gland. You smell like him, covered in his scent and that makes him vibrate with pleasure and satisfaction.

You hum, smiling against the sheets in your nest as you feel him throb inside you. Jack shuffles, guiding you to lay down with his knot embedded inside you and keeping you plugged full of his cum. “I think that was the last push.” You tell him breathlessly, closing your eyes and relaxing into his arms.

Jack feels you fall asleep against his chest and he caresses your arm and down to your side, wishing he could stay like this forever but his traitorous heart lurches when his mind flashes with the image of his dead omega full of his unborn son. It makes him clench his eyes shut like he’s trying to get rid of the image. He sighs and shakes his head, curling around you. He will be gone by the time you wake up, the note on the nightstand telling you to call him next time you’re in heat.

****

“Do not tell him that I am in heat.” You hiss through the phone to Ginger, the pain blooming through your system although you try to block it. “I just need suppressants,” you tell her. “This heat is different. I’m sick and throwing up. I’m tired all the time and the pain just seems to linger.” You had vowed to never let Jack Daniels in your nest again after waking to find your alpha had abandoned you for a second time. You had cried and raged before deciding that you were done letting him control you. “It will help with the pain.”

“I- I don’t think you need a - I think you need a doctor.” Ginger says, summoning the facility doctor to go to Jack’s house to meet you and check you out. You don’t argue and Ginger doesn’t alert Jack, knowing you’d be mad about it. “The doctor is gonna be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Ginger.” You tuck your phone into your shoulder and start tearing apart your nest to rebuild it for the third time. You’ve been unhappy with it and have done this at least twice a day for the past week. Unsure of why you feel so particular when you’ve never really noticed it before. “Please don’t tell Jack, I’m obviously not his concern.”

Jack’s phone dings and he wonders what the calendar event is when today is nothing special until he sees it’s the scheduled first day of your heat. He knows you must be in pain by now, he can feel the never ending tinge of pain in his body with every step he takes away from you and he decides to go see you, to perform his duty. The dust kicked up from his bronco, he enters the house with a call of your position, wanting to hear you moan for him.

You stare at the results the doctor had printed out for you. You hear Jack call your designation and you shove the paper out of sight and leap up to slam the bedroom door and lock it. Despite the pain, you don’t want him near you. Not right now. Not when your heat wasn’t really a heat. “What are you doing here, Jack?” You call out through the door, trying to ignore the way your omega leaps in happiness at his presence.

Jack tries to open the bedroom door and finds it locked. “Sugar, why are you lockin’ me out?” He asks, frowning and confused as he tries the door again. “Why won’t you let me help you?” He asks, his voice taking on that alpha quality that has you shivering as you struggle to not respond.

“So you can leave me again?” You close your eyes, trying to resist the urge to open the door and slide into his arms. “I would rather work through my heat by myself.” You lie.

“I- you can’t deny what you need. I don’t want you to be hurtin’.” He murmurs and you scoff, “right. That’s why you keep leaving me.” Jack sighs, resting his forehead on the door after taking off his hat, “you know why.”

“I know that you bonded with me and have left me in pain nearly every day since then.” You reply. “Just go Jack. I’m not requiring your services. Go back to your apartment and pretend I don’t exist.”

“I - I want to help.” He tries to sound convincing, knowing that you hate him. You must hate him and he doesn’t blame you. He never should’ve claimed you. He deserves your hatred. “Just go.” You choke and he sighs, knocking his fist on the doorframe. “You know where to find me when it gets too much.” He says, placing his hat back on his head and he heads out of the house, back to his solitude.

You hate when he leaves but you know it’s for the best. He can’t discover that you are pregnant, that would really make him run for the hills. You are doing what is best for you and for him, even though it hurts.

****

The agony is something that Jack is used to now. The constant ache as he flies away on yet another mission. His heart burning for you but he stays away, unwilling to go through the grief from

the loss of another omega. He sighs and rubs his jaw as he comes in to land in Kentucky, the thought of wondering what you’re doing comes to him again. When he lands, he finds Ginger waiting for him and that makes him frown. “What’s happened?” He asks and she sighs.

“Jack. She - she’s in labor.” She announces and Jack shakes his head. 

“Labor? But she- she isn’t pregnant.” He chokes and Ginger nods, “she is. You haven’t spoken to her for months. She’s in labor, Jack. Don’t miss this opportunity to make things right.” Ginger says, having been your friend during your pregnancy, helping you and letting you vent when the anger towards Jack got to be too much for you.

You close your eyes, breathing heavily through another contraction and you let out a moan of pain. The doctor that had told you that you were pregnant is on the way, willing to deliver the baby at your home. You’ve decorated it to your tastes and prepared for your baby as best you can. Ginger had delivered a credit card that Jack had set up for you, so you didn’t have to worry about paying for anything, although the pain of not having your alpha with you still persisted. You were dealing with it and you supposed you should thank Jack. Because of that, you were dealing with labor a lot better than you could have been.

Jack is speeding down the driveway, barely stopping his bronco before he’s jumping out and making his way inside to find you screaming in pain, the midwife by your side. “Omega. Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands, setting his hat down and shrugging off his jacket. He’s terrified but there’s nothing he can do now, he needs to be here for you.

“Ginger.” You hiss, panting after the contraction has passed. “You-“ you shake your head, “you didn’t want me, so you wouldn’t want the baby either.” You reason, even though Ginger had assured you many times that Jack would have stepped up to take care of you and the baby if he had known you were pregnant.

Jack should want the earth to swallow him whole and he does when his eyes drift down to your belly. So round and full of his child, one he didn’t even know you were having. “I- I wish you had told me. I would’ve been here.” He’s half telling the truth. Not sure if he would’ve been here but he likes to think even he can work past it to be there for you.

You snort and would have replied but another pain rips through you, making you grip the bedding of your nest tightly and scream again. Sweat pours down your cheeks and you feel like the baby is trying to come too fast, but you know that you are progressing nicely.

Jack steps closer, reaching for your hand. “Omega. Let me help you”. He says, knowing he can comfort you like no one else can. He wants to. He wants to make you feel safe and protected while you go through this pain. “Did Ging not give you any pain meds?” He asks, knowing Ginger has stuff in her supplies.

“She- it’s not time yet.” You pant, leaning back and closing your eyes and trying to rest between the contractions. His fingers squeeze yours and you should pull away, but it does comfort you. Your eyes open and you look into the handsome face of your alpha. “You don’t have to stay.” You tell him. “I’ve decided to do this alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He growls at you, not allowing an argument. He may be many things but Jack won’t walk away from you in a time of need like this. He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it and murmurs your name. “You can do this, baby girl. I know you can. Focus. Breathe. You’re so fuckin’ strong. Can survive without your alpha. You can do this.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

You can survive without your alpha. It’s been a bitch to learn, but you’ve done it. Closing your eyes, you try to not let your omega take control, to preen under his touch and praise. You know it’s only temporary. Once the baby is born safely, Jack will disappear again. He doesn’t want you as his mate. You are nothing but a burden to him. The idea of breaking the bond once again flutters through your mind until the next contraction hits.

He holds your hand as you grit your teeth while the midwife comes over to check you. “You’re ready to go mama. You ready to start pushing?” She asks and you shake your head, “fuck, this hurts.” You choke, feeling another contraction coming. 

“You can do this, baby. Just breathe. You can do this.” Jack promises, knowing he has to be strong for you at this moment.

You close your eyes so you don’t have to see him, but the calming pheromones he’s pumping out and the strong grip of his hand helps you. Biting your lip, you quickly change it to clenching your teeth together to suppress the scream as you start to push.

Jack lets you squeeze the shit out of his hand and he watches as you push, sweat beading on your brow but you are being so strong. Time seems to stand still as you push until Jack hears the cries of the baby and his heart lurches. “Congratulations, it’s a girl. Would daddy like to cut the cord?” The midwife asks and Jack nods, dumbstruck as he walks over after letting go of your hand to cut the cord. 

The midwife hands him his daughter and she is squawking, annoyed at being pushed into the world, and Jack smiles, “hey darlin’ girl.” He murmurs, carrying her over to her mama.

Your heart stutters when you see your alpha with your daughter, softening your resolve and your omega purrs happily. Your tears are both from relief and angst that you know he will walk away again. Not only hurting you, but her as well. The midwife continues to work on you as you take her from Jack and cradle her in your arms. “You are gorgeous.” You coo to her smooshed little face, softly stroking her fluid covered cheek. “Look at you, Princess, you don’t have anything to cry about. Mama’s gonna take care of you.”

Jack starts to panic, imagining something happening to you or the baby. The fear crawls up his throat until he chokes, terrified to see you hurt or worse. You cradle the baby and he shakes his head, stepping back. “I- I’m sorry, omega. I can’t - fuck.” He tries to inhale but he can’t seem to breathe. The panic tightening his chest and he grips his shirt. “I- sorry.” He gasps and turns on his heel, running out of his home and onto the porch, desperately trying to breathe but he can’t.

You let out a sob of disbelief, unable to believe that he had run so quickly, but that seems to be Jack’s style. “Damn you, Jack Daniels.” You huff, tears starting to slide down your cheeks and you decide that you are done. “Do not let him back inside.” You instruct the midwife. “I don’t want him here.”

Jack can barely see as he drives back to the compound. His fingers gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline and he has tears running down his cheeks as he tries to drive away from his omega and his newborn daughter. He’s toxic and he knows he’d hurt them eventually so he might as well get it over with. 

When he arrives back at the compound, Ginger is there to meet him with a slap to the face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She hisses, “that’s it, Jack. You need to go to the therapist. No more excuses or trying to act like you’re fine. You just abandoned the best thing to ever happen to you and it’s gonna destroy you. You need help.” 

Jack can’t even argue. He nods, slumping as he struggles to breathe again. Ginger pulls him into her arms, knowing he’s struggling with everything

It hurts more than you ever thought to know that he didn’t even try to come back inside. That your daughter - his daughter - was so unimportant that he didn’t want to see her again. It makes you realize that you had done the right thing, not telling him about your pregnancy. Still you hesitate to break your bond, despite it hurting you. Instead, you focus on your daughter and the first days pass quickly, getting used to being a mother and learning to breastfeed your daughter.

Jack rubs his hands on his jeans, standing up from the sofa. His therapy session is over, one of many that he’s been attending to work through his issues and he’s stepping out of the room when he gets the call. “Ging.” He answers and she says words he doesn’t ever want to hear. 

It’s all a fuzzy noise but he hears her say “collapsed” and “hospital” and he’s rushing to the hospital without a second thought. He gives you name and is running into your room, finding you unconscious on the bed, the baby in the bassinet beside you. 

The doctor follows him in and explains that you collapsed. A hemorrhage from the birth and you had called 911 before you collapsed so they brought the baby with you as it didn’t appear anyone was at home with you. Jack nearly collapses himself from guilt and the doctor says you are touch and go for now, they need to see if the clots have traveled to your brain so they are taking you for a scan. 

The baby begins to cry and Jack walks over to cradle her, tears in his eyes as the guilt swallows him whole. “Hey sweetheart. It’s daddy. I- I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.” He chokes, leaning down to kiss her forehead before he looks over at you.

The baby squawks and tears up again, unhappy that her mother isn’t holding her, but you don’t stir. You can’t. You are locked in a dream where Jack leaves you, over and over again, making your heart ache and your body shudder in pain. A dream where your daughter doesn’t exist because he never would mate you after that first time. 

The doctor tells Jack that they have put you in a coma to keep your brain protected in case of any blood clots and Jack spends what seems like days in the hospital room. The baby can’t stay in there forever since you have breast milk at home so he has to go home and let her sleep, feed her, and Ginger has to help him learn how to take care of his daughter. 

It’s been a week since you went into hospital and Jack doesn’t think he can imagine his life without his child. He’s fallen in love with her, wanting to be her father and protect her from the horrors of the world. He rocks her as he sits down on the plastic chair, diaper bag at his feet as he sits beside you. “Hey, baby girl. Me and Ella are here.” He says, looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms.

Your eyes flutter and you groan quietly. You feel like you are being pulled out of a deep sleep. You can hear Jack talking, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. The baby is cooing and you remember her face, holding her. Grunting you try to reach for her but your limbs feel like they are weighed down.

Jack cradles the baby and notices you’ve woken up. “Omega.” He murmurs softly, not wanting to startle you and he steps closer, “omega, it’s me.” He says and leans down to smile at you, not wanting to startle you. “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay.” He promises, leaning in to reassure you.

“J- Jack?” You try to open your eyes but they are so heavy, taking you several moments before you can finally peel them open. “Wh- where’s the baby?” You ask groggily, not seeing her at first and then panicking. “The baby- where’s my baby?”

Jack leans over, Ella still in his arms, and he shows her to you. “It’s okay, baby. She’s here. She’s here.” He assures you, tilting his arms to show you the baby as the nurses come in, wanting to check on you since your alarms went off with your waking up.

“Wha-what happened?” You are confused and agitated with the nurses poking you when all you want is to hold your baby. Relieved when they move so you aren’t looking around them to see Ella, you reach for her the moment you can. “Give her to me.” You beg Jack, desperate to hold her again. “Why am I here?”

The nurses help you sit up and get you situated, checking your vitals but all you want is for Ella to be in your arms. Jack doesn’t argue, reaching out to slide the baby gently into your arms and you immediately pull her close. Jack watches you, tearing stinging in his eyes. “She has been fed and changed. I- I found the breast milk in the freezer.” He explains, wanting to reassure you.

“Why are you here?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but Jack has done nothing but abandon you. You don’t want him here. It’s hard to ignore the calming pheromones he’s sending out but you cuddle your daughter close and lean over her, as if you could protect her from the alpha in the room. Your blood pressure spikes and you look up at Jack for an explanation.

Jack shakes his head, "I know you hate me but...at least let me be there for our little girl. I have taken care of her in the time you've been unconscious and I love her. I want to be her father. Please, if anything, let me be a father to her. That's all I ask, baby girl."

“What? So you can leave her too? Alpha?” You sneer his designation and shake your head. “You’re only here because I wasn’t able to take care of her. Now you will just leave again and I’d rather you do it when she won’t be hurt by it.” You tell him. “You left her when she was less than five minutes old.”

Jack swallows, knowing he deserves your anger. “I- I know you hate me but I’ve been working on myself in therapy. I have tried to - to work through my issues and I’m doing better. I know now how wrong I’ve been. I should’ve been there. This entire time. I love you. I love her. I know I don’t deserve a second chance but darlin’, walkin’ away will kill me but I’ll do it for you.” He vows, his breathing picking up.

You hadn’t expected a fight, but his easy acquiesce to your demands just proves that you had been right. He would just leave again. As much as your omega is begging you to climb out of your bed and follow him, you can’t. This is about what’s best for you and your baby. Not what your omega wants.

It’s so hard to walk out but he has to. He can’t stay there and agitate you when you need to rest. It kills him to leave but he does and eventually, he ends up in the house, preparing it for your return. Buying groceries and doing the laundry, he cleans and makes sure it’s ready for your return.

You have to stay in the hospital another twelve hours, but eventually they release you. There wasn’t a clot and your bleeding had returned to normal, so there’s no reason for you to stay. When you are discharged, you call Ginger to take you and the baby home, telling her that you’ve sent Jack away. That you are going to break your bond when you get home. You want to be free of an alpha who never really wanted you to begin with.

When you arrive home, Jack is waiting with dinner cooked and everything ready for you to relax. He knows you are going to be tired despite being in the coma and he desperately wants you to be okay and healthy even if you hate him. When the door opens, he waits for you and swallows harshly, knowing you’re gonna want him to leave.

Frowning, you freeze when you see Jack inside, wondering what he is doing here. You smell food and you are surprised that he has cooked. Or bought food, you didn’t know Jack could cook, but there are a lot of things that you don’t know about him. Instead of saying anything, you try to ignore the soothing scent of his alpha and go about getting the baby settled back in because she needs to eat again and then go to bed.

Jack sighs when you don’t say anything to him but he doesn’t react. Instead, he lays the table for your dinner and gets you some water. He hears you putting Ella in her crib and he swallows harshly, waiting for you to come out as he leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed as he waits for you.

You walk back into the living room and despite not seeing him, you still feel him here. Coming into the kitchen, you see him waiting there. “You are still here?” You ask, feigning surprise. “Can’t say as I expected that. Did you need something from me?”

“No. No. I don’t need anything. I just - I want to be there for you and this is my house. I’m not leavin’. I’ll stay in the spare room but I ain’t leavin’ my family. I want a second chance and I- seein’ you in that hospital bed…seein’ you and looking after Ella…it made me realize what is so important. It’s you and Ella. My family. I quit Statesmen.” He announces, knowing you won’t accept him but he’s not walking away again.

Your mouth drops open in shock and you shake your head. “You quit your job? You live for your job.” You protest and huff. It makes you frown and you wonder how long it would take for him to grow bored and want to go back. “Jack, you shouldn’t have done that.”

He shakes his head, “I quit because it’s not my life anymore. You are. You and Ella. Omega, I don’t want to be away from you. I have spoken to my therapist and I’ve been workin’ through my shit. I’m not perfect. I ain’t ever gonna be, but I want to be with you.”

They are words that you have desperately  wanted to hear for so long. Your heart aches and you want to believe him, but you shake your head. “Until when, Jack?” You have been purposefully calling him by his name instead of alpha. “I'm sorry, I just can’t trust you.” You admit sadly. “I can’t make you go, but I don’t want you in my nest.”

“I understand that, sugar. I don’t want to push this but I’m not leavin’. I’ll be here, helping with Ella and helping you after you just got out of the hospital. I’m gonna look after you both. What I should’ve been doing this entire time.” He sighs, feeling guilty and he reminds himself of his techniques from his therapist.

“You should have been doing that.” You won’t let him get off easy. “I was going to break our bond tonight.” You announce. “Give you the freedom you have wanted for nearly a year.”

Jack is surprised to hear that even though he shouldn’t be. It’s painful to remove the bond, and it can lead to death. “You- you were gonna - oh baby girl. I- fuck.” He blinks a few times, shocked to hear that and he feels a little sick. He shakes his head, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shrug, trying to blink back tears. “You never wanted me. Not really. And I’ve been selfish by keeping the bond in place.” You might be a little emotional, but you’ve given it a lot of thought.

“No. No. I’ve been the selfish one. Running away from my responsibility, from what should’ve been my salvation. I’ve led a lonely life until you came along and I shouldn’t have run away, I - there’s a reason I bonded with you. We are meant to be, even if you don’t see that right now. Give me a second chance to prove to you that I can be your alpha, be a good father.”

You smile sadly, aware that your omega is leaping at the chance to reconcile. You shake your head. “I don’t know if that’s going to happen.” You admit. “I give you one week before you are leaving. A week would be longer than you’ve ever stayed before.”

Jack sighs, knowing he has to prove it to you and he’s prepared to do that. “Give me one week, just one week. And if I’m gone, you can break the bond and - fuck - find someone to shoot my ass. But if I’m here for more than a week…I want you to give me a second chance. To allow me to prove to you that I’m fully in this.” He pleads softly, dark eyes wide under the rim of his hat.

“One week.” It won’t make a difference to Ella if Jack stayed for a week, if he left she would still be too young to imprint on him. “If you are here after a week, I will see about giving you another chance.” It’s all you can offer him right now. “I don’t know if you understand how much you hurt me, Jack.” You murmur quietly. “Especially leaving after Ella was born.”

“I know, baby girl. I know.” He nods, knowing he can’t take back that agony, the hurt he caused, but he can try to make up for it now. He gestures to the table, “sit and eat. Please. I don’t want us to forget you’ve just been in the hospital.”

You are grateful that he made you something to eat, so you don’t argue. Pulling the chair out and sitting down, you look at the meal and smile. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” You admit quietly. “I don’t know if my supply of breast milk has dried up. The nurses said they pumped me, but they never said if the supply was dwindling.”

Jack bites his lip, “I - the nurses did say it might have dried up so I got some formula. You still have a good supply in the freezer and I- shit - I should’ve been here when you collapsed. I should’ve been taking care of you.”

You bite your lip, aware that he’s right, but it’s not like you can go back in time. Instead you just nod and start to eat. Your appetite comes back quickly and you start eating hungrily and surprise yourself with how much you enjoyed the fact that this alpha made you food. “Thank you.” You offer quietly when you put down your fork.

Jack knows he doesn't deserve a second chance but he's prepared to work for it. He knows that he can't walk away from his omega and his daughter. "I'll go check on Ella. Eat your meal, baby girl." He says and leaves you in peace. He has a week to prove to you that he's all in and he's going to do this.

You listen to him through the baby monitor, softly cooing to the still sleeping baby. It makes your heart clench and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he’s got a habit of saying what he needs to in the moment. You sigh softly, wondering what you are going to do, so determined to break the bond when you left the hospital.

The next week passes by with Jack helping you with Ella and around the house. He wants you to know he’s being serious. He’s quit Statesmen and he’s here for you and Ella. He sighs as he makes up Ella’s bottle and he’s exhausted. Sleeping in the guest bedroom, he’s struggling to rest when his mind rolls over the things he regrets while waiting for you to at least give him a chance.

You shuffle into the kitchen, sleepy eyed and just woken up to make a bottle. Not expecting Jack to already be up. You hum and move over towards him. “Is that for Ella, alpha?” You ask quietly, voice laden with sleep and calling him by his designation almost by accident. This week has shown you what a considerate and helpful alpha he is capable of being. Slowly, your wariness has eased and while you still feel the ache of separation, it’s not the searing pain it had been when you were apart.

Jack preens at your response to his helping and his efforts, happy that you seem to be warming up to him. He checks the bottle on his wrist and Ella is still crying through the monitor. “I’ll get her.” Jack says, making his way into the nursery to cradle his daughter, cooing to her while he places the bottle at her lips. She latches it on and starts to gulp down the milk. “That’s it, sweetheart.” He murmurs

The sounds of her father talking to her filter through the monitor and you can’t help but smile. He is making an effort and it has done wonders for you. The issues with your health are all but resolved and you feel better than you had when you had been carrying her. As you listen to them, you start the coffee and breakfast, aware that both of you need to eat.

Jack changes Ella after she finishes her bottle and he carries her into the kitchen to see you cooking and he frowns, “I was gonna make you some pancakes, baby girl.” He says, stepping closer to you. “You still need your rest.”

“I can make breakfast.” You promise him. “I think I might have slept more than you did last night.” You’ve noticed that the tired look on his face has gotten worse and you nudge a cup of coffee towards him. “Do I need to take her?”

Jack shakes his head, “I’ll do it. You want some eggs and bacon? I’ve got her.” He smiles down at Ella who snuggles into his chest and he leans down to kiss her forehead. “I’ve got my little Angel.” Jack coos, rocking her and he can feel you watching him.

“You like being a father.” You realize, smiling slightly when you do. “That’s - that’s good.” You bite your lip, trying to ignore how sexy he is with the baby in his arms and your omega begs for you to slide closer and touch him. Your body isn’t recovered enough for physical affection, but that need is growing.

“I never - it’s not something I ever thought I’d get the chance to do. I never wanted to because of…you know. But this little one, she’s stolen my heart and I can’t imagine not wantin’ to be her daddy.” He confesses, “I want to be there for her…and for you, omega.”

You shiver and can’t quite suppress the small whine. Enjoying the way that it feels when he calls you ‘omega’ in such a possessive tone. “You’ve been here for a week.” You venture, glancing up from the eggs to look into his soft brown eyes. “And you’re still here.”

Jack nods, not wanting to expand on that. Ultimately, it’s your choice if he gets a second chance. He bites his lip, “and…and do you want me to leave?” He asks, unsure of where you are going with this. If you’re trying to let him down gently.

“Do you want to leave?” You want the truth, but you know it, deep down in your soul. 

“I don’t, omega.” Jack promises you. “I want to stay here with you and our little Angel.” 

It’s the answer you want and you know that he’s not lying, he wants to stay. “I- I’m not recovered yet.” You venture softly. “So I understand if you don’t want to be in my nest.” He hadn’t come into your room unless Ella needed something and then it’s only been once since you’ve been home. “But you could if you wanted to.”

Jack is taken back, certain that you were going to kick him out and when you don’t, he’s relieved. His heart thumping and he comes closer to you, leaning down to drop a kiss onto your forehead. “I want that. I want to be there for you, omega. I want to be yours.” He promises, leaning back to look at you with sincerity in his eyes.

“Okay.” You nod, your heart swelling and the ache that has been so present, starts to slowly go away. You know it won’t be fully gone until he touches you, but it’s barely noticeable. “I want to be yours, alpha.” You admit shyly.

He wants to scream with relief. The last week has been difficult for him, feeling the ache you’ve been feeling being separated from you. Accepting the bond has led to him having a dull ache and he wants to hold you. “Good.” He says after he clears his throat, cradling Ella still. “I’ll come back to your nest.”

“When she- “ you pause and then decide to continue your suggestion. “When Ella goes down for her nap, do you want to curl up with me? Sleep? I know you are tired.” You look over at him and bite your lip. “We can have our own nap.”

Jack nods, shifting to sit down at the kitchen table, watching you eat and he’s happy that you are eating again. After you eat, he slides Ella into your arms so he can clear up and soon enough, it’s time for Ella’s nap. He gives her her bottle and changes her before he lays her down. Grabbing the monitor, he follows you into your bedroom - his bedroom - and stays back as he waits for you to make the first move.

Your nest has been cleaned since giving birth, all the bedding changed out and it doesn’t smell like Jack anymore. Something that you had missed, even though you tried to deny it. “It is comfortable but I can make it bigger if you need some space away from me.” You offer, not wanting him to feel like he has to be pressed up against you. Your bed is large, but the nest of blankets and pillows makes the space feel crowded.

Jack shakes his head, “no baby. Let’s take a nap. I want to feel you, I want to smell you.” He says and you nod, shifting to lay down on the bed. He lays down beside you, curling around you and he nuzzles his nose into your neck.

You whine happily, feeling your body relax for the first time in months. Since the last time that he had been in your nest. You reach for his hands and cover them with your own. “Please be here when I wake up, alpha.” You murmur sleepily.

“Always.” He vows softly. Jack holds you as you fall asleep, wanting to comfort you and keep you safe. He closes his eyes and breathes you in, happy to be in your nest after he doesn’t deserve this because of the way he treated you.

It’s probably the best sleep you’ve had in a long time, in fact, you know it is. You sleep hard, aware that your alpha is tucked around you and his own pheromones have changed from slightly distressed to pure happiness and calm. Weaving through your own senses and making your omega purr happily as you soak up the scent of him. Both of you sleep, as long as you can until Ella cries break through the fog of sleep and you open your eyes.

Jack kisses your hair, “I’ve got her. Go back to sleep.” He rasps, shifting away from you to fetch Ella. He has stepped up and he plans to keep doing so, he just hopes that you allow him to keep being there for you and your daughter. 

**** 

“Jack!” You cry, stomach aching and Jack knows what this is. He’s been anticipating it and you haven’t discussed what you want to do. 

“Omega.” He murmurs, keeping his distance from you even though he desperately wants to touch you. “I need - you gotta tell me what you want.” He orders, needing to hear you say what you want.

You whimper and you know what you want. What you need. “Alpha.” You beg softly. “I need you. Please.” You are completely recovered from Ella’s birth and it will be the first time that he has touched you since then.

Jack hesitates but you whine his name and he crumbles. He nods, shifting closer to your best. Ella is napping and he knows he will have to balance caring for you and for Ella during your heat. He wastes no time stripping down, shifting to kneel on the bed he’s been sharing with you. “Tell me what you want.” He demands, wanting to please you.

“You.” You squirm in anticipation, needing the rough, yet tender approach to fulfilling your needs that Jack gives you. “Just you, I want- I need - your knot stretching me out.”

He can’t deny you anything. He nods and shifts closer, pushing your legs wide and he caresses your thighs, positioning himself between them and he leans down to capture your lips with his, wanting this to be soft and sweet. His heart pounds in his chest and his fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles.

Your eyes flutter closed and you moan into his mouth. Your body is already responding to his scent and the nimbleness of his fingers as they work your clit. “Alpha.” You whine softly and your hips push up into his hand.

Jack groans at how wet you are, loving how you need him like this. He never imagined he’d have this again and it makes him throb. His fingers slide lower to push inside of you, scissoring to open you up for him and his thumb presses against your clit while he kisses along your throat.

You moan softly, your omega preening under the attention. Cunt clenching down around him. You curl your fingers around the bedding of your nest and hold on tight. “Alpha, so good.”

His tongue lathes over your scent gland, inhaling you deeply, and he loves how you feel and sound. “God, I fuckin’ love you, baby.” He murmurs, knowing it’s true. He does love you and he nearly lost it all because he’s an idiot who refused to seek help for his trauma. It nearly cost him everything. His fingers continue working inside of you, wanting you to cum like this.

Your eyes close, absorbing the feeling of his admission. Enjoying the sound of it and feeling the emotions linger in the air through his scent. Feeling how much he loves you, the need in his touch. He needs you as much as you need him. Turning your head, you blindly kiss along his cheek as he continues to push your body towards the first orgasm of your heat. “I love you, alpha.”

Your confession makes his heart clench and he loves it, he wants to hear you say it again and again. “Fuck, baby. Yes. I love you. You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” He asks, pushing his fingers a little deeper inside of you. “You gonna cum, omega?” He murmurs, turning his head to kiss your lips.

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna cum.” You gasp out, your body shaking in pleasure and the next curl of his fingers deep inside you makes your orgasm slam through you. Crying out his name, your cunt gushes around his fingers and the pleasure fires through every nerve ending in your body as waves of pheromones waft out of your pores, signaling your satisfaction.

Jack works you through it, loving the way your scent is saturated with lust and love. Its intoxicating and he groans your name, withdrawing his fingers to push them into his mouth. “So fucking perfect.” He groans and leans in to press his lips to yours. “I love you.” He murmurs, shifting to grip his cock in his fingers.

Reaching down, you bat his fingers away and replace them with your own. Enjoying the way that he groans into your mouth when you squeeze him and start to slowly stroke his cock as he lines up to your wet cunt. "Please make me yours, alpha." You beg quietly. "I need you to make me yours."

He knows you are giving yourself to him now, all of you, voluntarily, and he loves that. He can't believe he gets to have you like this. He nudges his nose against yours before he starts to slowly push inside of you. "Fuck omega, my omega." He murmurs, eyes closed as he savors the wet heat surrounding his cock.

The fear, the pain of the past year seems to just melt away as he slides inside you. "Alpha." You moan, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him closer so that he is fully seated inside you. The burn, the stretch is exactly what you wanted and you love it.

"Fuckkkk darlin'" He groans, low and raspy as he pulls back to look down at you. So fucking beautiful and all his. He can't believe you are his, that you want him. He could die happy right here. He kisses your chin, giving you a moment to adjust to him and he kisses your jaw.

"I want to stay right here forever." You whimper, smiling as you enjoy the weight of him on top of you. "I love your cock inside me, alpha." You admit, tightening your thighs around him.

"It's your cock, baby girl." He promises, starting to rock his hips and move inside of you. "I love you darlin'" He murmurs, reaching down to grip your thigh so he can push deeper inside of you. His pace is slow but he can feel you getting needier so he starts to rock a little faster until he's got a deep, quick pace.

Your heat doesn’t seem to be burning through you this time, unable to be satiated. It has to be because your alpha is here, taking care of you. His lips press against your scent gland where his mark is still displayed. “Fuck. Baby. So good.” You moan, rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts.

He caresses every inch of your skin that he can reach, ducking his head down to take your nipple into his mouth and he sucks on it as his cock moves inside of you.

Instead of being furious and deep, every roll of his hips takes its sweet time. Like he has all the time in the world. Making love to you rather than just fulfilling your needs during a heat. You moan his name softly, the sound filling your nest and you cling to him as he takes your body and makes it sing for him.

The normally frantic breeding that occurs during a heat is slowed down so he can show you how he feels. He rocks into you, lowering his hips so he can angle his pelvis to rub against your clit with every roll of his hips. “I - fuck - you feel so good, omega. Need my baby to cum again for me.” Jack pleads, kissing along your neck.

You whine and nod as he continues his slow and steady decimation of your cunt. Filling you thoroughly over and over again while he groans your name and then your designation. "Alpha." you whimper, feeling the coil in your belly pull tighter and start to fray. "Gonna cum."

“Good girl. That’s it. Cum for me. Soak my cock like a good omega. My girl, my beautiful girl.” He groans, feeling you clamp down on his cock and you throw your head back as you cum, making him surge forward to sink his teeth into your gland again, wanting to claim you again.

Your cry is loud, ringing out when he sinks his teeth into your gland. “Jack! Fuck, alpha, I’m yours, I’m yours.” You chant, riding out your high and shuddering in pleasure.

Jack withdraws his teeth, licking over the wound, and he rocks his hips harder and faster, the urge to claim you in every way overwhelming him as he fucks into you. “Love you baby girl. Fuck. I’m gonna-” His knot swells and he thrusts a half dozen times before he’s pushing deep inside of you until he’s painting your walls with his hot cum.

There is something primal about feeling his seed flood your womb again, his knot keeping it inside you. Your cunt clenches around him and makes it feel even better, prompting another orgasm as he pumps you full. Stroking his face, you moan again and again. "Alpha, oh my alpha, I love you."

Jack shifts onto his back, bringing you with him to lay on his chest and he caresses your spine. “I love you too, darlin’” He murmurs, closing his eyes and he feels like he’s home. “I don’t ever wanna lose you.” He confesses, “I ain’t gonna walk away again. I’m here forever.” He promises you.

You close your eyes and sigh happily, snuggling deeper into his arms and breathing him in. “I love you too, Jack. Alpha.” You murmur softly. “I’m glad you want to stay. I need you. Always.”

Jack kisses your hair, knowing that nothing is going to drag him away from you. He loves you more than life itself and he won’t leave again. He’s going to continue seeing his therapist and he wants to be a better man for his family, a better alpha for his omega. You once asked him if he regrets bonding with you and he said no, he means that. He could never regret finding happiness again, even if it took him a while to figure it out.

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey imagine #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fanfic #alpha agent whiskey #omega reader #a/b/o au #omegaverse

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 2

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: Mature Word Count: 20.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, flirting, Jack can dance and I will die on this hill.  Summary: Your introduction to the world of Statesman comes with a flirtation, a job interview, a pool game, and an unexpected turn to the night after an unexpected day. Notes: I’m not even mad about how long this chapter is. I *loved* introducing this reader to Statesman and I hope you guys do, too!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Three hours later to the minute, you're standing on the tarmac at Portsmouth International Airport with a backpack slung over one shoulder as you follow a flight attendant in a crisp Statesman uniform up to the stairs to board the jet bearing the company's logo in giant letters splashed across the side. It's really real. It's actually, really real. A discreet picture on your phone will be very quickly texted to your mom before the plane takes off, but for now you're listening to the attendant tell you that the flight will last two and a half hours and that anything you need will be provided on board. There's a man in a Stetson standing just inside the door of the plane as you walk up, and you have to hand it to these folks. They have truly committed to the cowboy aesthetic.

“Howdy ma’am.” Champ didn’t tell him who he was picking up when he called Tequila to his office and told him that he was being sent with the jet to pick someone up. He didn’t rightly think it was his business; but he has to admit that you’re cute. He smirks slightly as he tips his hat with two fingers and motions you towards the captain's chairs. “Want a drink before takeoff?”

"Just a bottle of water would be great." As much as a finger or two of whiskey would calm the hell out of your nerves right now, you don't know if drinking during what is technically one long-ass job interview would be considered very professional. You look around as the flight attendant whisks your backpack away, setting it on the end of a small sofa that serves as seating on the jet. "This plane is absolutely amazing..."

“Aw, come on now.” Tequila steps behind the bar and grabs the bottle of water to set on the shiny surface. “You can’t tell me you don’t drink? You’ll break my heart.”

You laugh, appreciating the man's jovial attitude and willing to admit to yourself that he's very attractive. Not your usual type, but there's nothing wrong with being leading-man attractive. You just normally go for more unique looking men - and older. "Experience tells me that drinking during a job interview is bad manners," you admit, taking a step further into the room. This plane has rooms. "But I've never interviewed for a distillery before, so maybe the rules are actually the opposite now."

“Drinking’s a job requirement.” He flirts, sending you a small wink and reaching for the bottle of ‘82 Special Selection. “Champ’ll have you with a glass in your hand by the time you get done shakin’.”

"Just a little, then." It doesn't matter that your tolerance is hellishly high, you're not aiming to get drunk at all during this trip. "So your boss...Champ? He, uh...he doesn't do things by half, does he?" You're curious about the man after finding next to nothing about him online. Even finding a photograph was like pulling teeth.

“No one at Statesman does.” Tequila grins proudly as he picks up the bottle and uncorks it to start pouring into the awaiting glasses. “So why are you coming to Kentucky?” He’s curious and as an intelligence agent, he’s never one to not ask questions.

“It’s…an interview?” You look up at the man in confusion and laugh, purely out of nerves. “Did your boss not tell you who you were picking up, or why?”

“Champ says go, you go.” You don’t scream ‘new agent’, but he’s been wrong before. “What’ll you be doin’, if I can ask?”

“I’m a pastry chef.” One hand curls itself around the glass he has poured for you, feeling the steadiness of the weight of cut crystal in your hand. “Mr. Rogers wants to expand the food that the distillery is able to offer to guests who take tours and come to events. So…he called me.” Which still seems sort of batshit insane, but you are good at what you do, and you love it. You’re even a good savory chef - but pastry really has been your passion.

"Pastry....like cakes and pies?" Tequila asks, tilting his head as he thinks about it. You nod, giving him a vaguely amused smile that he notices a lot on people around him and he purses his lips, nodding in agreement. "I like it. Although you're gonna be haunted by the ones with sugar addictions." He warns, thinking about Jack's hidden sweet tooth. Man likes to claim that his ever so softening belly is the result of his bad back, but the drawer in his desk that is devoted to candy would prove that is a lie.

“Well, I hope so.” It earns him a bright, genuine laugh with a smile. “Otherwise there would be no point in hiring an executive pastry chef for the distillery at all.” Feeling slightly more relaxed, you take a small sip of whiskey and hum at the gentle burn. The notes of vanilla and smoke in this particular vintage would make an amazing boozy caramel for that chocolate tart you’ve been doing at the restaurant. “Everyone has a favourite sweet. Something tied to good memories or a favorite person. Sometimes it’s a thing you had once and maybe never again, but you’ll just love it forever from that one taste. Sweets are kind of magical like that.”

"I guess." Tequila gives a small shrug, shooting you a grin. "I'm more of a red hots kind of guy myself. I like the heat." He's not overly fond of sweets, but he can enjoy a dessert every now and again. It's more like he would haunt your kitchens for you rather than your cakes.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had Mexican hot chocolate or a spicy sweet candied anything?” When the cowboy looks at you in wonder and shakes his head, you laugh again. Not to laugh at him, just because getting people to try new things is one of the best parts of what you do. “I tell you what. If I get this job, I’ll road-test a batch of my guajillo and cinnamon fudge brownies for the menu. They’ll knock your socks off.”

"If you say so." Tequila looks skeptical but gives a shrug. He's always willing to try anything once. "So you are willing to move to Kentucky to make cakes at a distillery?" He asks, trying to get a feel for you. He's cocky as an agent, but when he doesn't know the woman's background, he can be a bit shy.

“What’s life without adventure, right?” You shrug and take another sip of the drink you’ve been poured. Statesman really is quality liquor, you have to admit that. “It’s a great position and comes with a lot of freedom. Not everybody gets to develop their own menu and recipes at a facility like yours.”

Tequila chuckles, lifting his own glass up and silently toasting you before he takes a sip. "Thank God for freedom, right?" He is meaning his freedoms on a mission, but you don't know that. He wonders if you will be clued in on the real function of Statesman, or if you will just be another front for the intelligence agency.

“Absolutely.” It hits bittersweet, though, this time. Freedom in a general sense is great. But three days ago you were in the walk-in at work and dropped every single thing in your arms when a searing, unintelligible pain took over your entire body. Thinking it was a weird muscle spasm or an allergic reaction to the new body wash you were trying out, you ignored it until the end of the day. Of course, at the end of the day, you stood in your bedroom mirror and realized there was no rash. No reaction. The mountain range tattoo over your heart had disappeared along with the chef’s knife that had adorned the inside of your forearm, and all the scars from cuts and burns that had told you your soulmate had to be a chef were gone. Your brother had tried to be comforting. Told you that you were free now to love whoever you wanted. But that wasn’t the kind of freedom you had ever wanted.

He wonders about the sudden look of melancholy that washes over your face but he doesn't want to pry. You aren't a target and he wants to make sure that you are comfortable around him if you take this job. Something tells him that you will, but he's been wrong before. Hell, he thought Jack would have crawled out of a bottle by now, but when he had left, the man was still drunk from the night before.

The captain’s voice comes over the intercom, asking all passengers and crew to take their seats for take off, and the overly tall cowboy nods in response before leading you to your seat. “So what do you do at Statesman?” You ask, once you’re buckled in and he is sitting beside you. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Security.” He sits down and untucks his jacket from around his back with a small wink towards you. It’s the go-to cover position within the distillery workforce. At least where the civilians are concerned.

“And is this your uniform?” He makes it work, you’ll give him that. But you kind of want to prepare yourself for whatever you’re about to walk into. If you’re going to be wearing a cowgirl hat instead of a toque, you want to know ahead of time.

"Uniform?" He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "No ma'am, we dress for comfort at Statesman." He tells you, although everyone had their own sense of business style, Tequila was still more comfortable in ranch hand attire than anything. Jack was on the one to wear fancy threads.

“Just curious,” you tell him honestly, adding a nonchalant shrug because you’re a little awkward about everything. “It seems like Statesman has its own culture about it, and I like that. Places I’ve worked before haven’t felt like a community at all.”

"You won't feel like that here." Tequila promises. "We're proud of what we do and it shows." Of course, there is a lot to that statement that you don't know how true it is but even the front of the distillery was worked with pride. He honestly felt like it was the best damn bourbon mash in all of Kentucky.

“We’ll see how the interview goes.” There’s no way you’re going to count your chicken before they hatch, but this job just sounds like an absolute dream.

Tequila snorts and listens to the engines power up before the large jet starts to roll down the runway. "Everyone who's ever worked for Statesman has probably said some version of that statement." He tells you, lifting a brow playfully. "And never left."

******

The flight seems short with such good company, and the man who cringes at his own name - Tex - brings you from the airstrip to the main building to actually meet Champ when you land. It’s been a mere six hours since that phone call this morning, but it feels days away. The Statesman campus is stunning. Everywhere you look are excited tourists and seemingly happy employees. Most wear some kind of western-influenced style but not everyone, although you do notice that everyone who does wear the cowboy look has beautiful quality boots and Stetsons. If what they’re offering to pay you is any indication, everybody here can definitely afford high quality pieces. There is a decent-sized cafeteria buzzing with eager patrons eating classic Southern favourites, and then there is the brand-new empty restaurant space where Tex introduces you to an older man in worn but well-cared-for western wear of his own, and you’re instantly certain that this is Champ.

Champ gives you an affable grin as he reaches out and takes your hand in his. "Richard 'Champagne' Rogers." He tells you by way of introduction. "But call me Champ." He looks away from you and towards Tequila. "I see that Tex has gotten you here without any emergencies." He nods towards the agent and then looks back you. "How was the flight?"

“Very comfortable, thank you.” He has a patriarchal vibe that leans more toward grandfather than anything else, and you feel yourself relax a little. Your own grandfather would probably fit right in here. Right alongside Champ Rogers. “The campus here is gorgeous. I’m excited to see the facilities you talked about this morning.”

"It's in the back here." Champ gestures towards an area that has been cordoned off and still has the air of being in the final stages of being remodeled. "We were going to do some kinda fancy steakhouse, but folks don't want another one of those." He explains.

“So you’re leaning in the direction of Southern tea house instead?” Following him into the kitchen, it’s easy to see the makings of a world-class set up here. Glistening appliances and brand-new surfaces wink in the bright light and the door to the walk-in is so new it still has film on the window. It’s just the dining room that has no personality yet.

"I want a place where people can come in and relax." Champ tells you. "Indulge and pair new things with old whiskey."

“New twists on old classics?” It’s something that is gaining a lot of traction these days, and you nod your head in agreement. “My style is a combination of things. French technique and American classics, with some British influence to polish it all off. And I can do savory as well as pastry.” If this whole place is going to be a functioning tea room of sorts, you don’t want him to make any mistake about your abilities. “Are you planning on hiring an executive savory chef as well?”

Champ frowns for a moment and shakes his head. "Naw...what's that sayin'? 'Two women in a kitchen's bad business'. You can head the whole thing."

If you had been holding anything, it would have gone clattering to the ground. Your own restaurant. This company is offering you your own goddamn restaurant. The second you start to process it you feel giddy and anxious - like you could actually fly from the butterflies in your belly. “Then I hope you like what I do,” you tell him with what you hope is a carefree laugh. “One more question, if I could? Before I get to work, I mean.”

Champ raises a brow at you and chuckles. "Shoot, girl, straight from the hip." He tells you. He likes the look of you and he can see why you would be Jack's new soulmate.

“I suppose it’s sort of a multi-part question,” you admit, hoping that doesn’t make you sound inexperienced or unprepared. “I’m wondering if this restaurant will be just for tourists and guests, or if it will also be a facility for your employees? And also what kind of events you anticipate being able to host here with the event space having access to a specialized restaurant.” Frankly, to you, it screams parties and weddings - but who knows what they’re expecting to be able to do?

"Isn't that up to you?" Champ asks, looping his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looking around the place again. He shoulda known Jack Daniels soulmate had a keen business sense and a good head on her shoulders. He woulda said the same about Jack until recently. "I mean, it'd be your rodeo, wouldn't you call the shots?"

It’s simultaneously terrifying, inspiring, and nerve-wracking to get that kind of answer, but you end up stifling a grin when Tex flashes you two thumbs up behind his boss’s back for encouragement. “You’d make a hell of a profit from weddings,” you tell Champ honestly, although that’s not why you like the idea of doing them. “Weddings, private events, corporate parties, live music events. From large scale down to small scale, they all run on the same principle. A restaurant staff can handle the catering demands, and we can work with other vendors and event planners to make sure the details are right. I’ve done it at my last two jobs with excellent results.” It’s a goddamn dream come true, that’s what Statesman is. You just have to work your ass off to make sure Champ likes your food.

Champ purses his lips and looks around like he's contemplating it. It all actuality, it would be whatever would make you stay here. As a senior agent, Jack's worth the investment of a business that might actually expand the Statesman brand. And if it keeps his soulmate on the grounds and protected, well that was just fine. "If you want to take that on, I don't see why we couldn't do it. Have the boys in bottling provide a special bottle for the occasions." He offers, knowing that an etched bottle of whiskey would be a perfect wedding thing. "If you don't, you could just have the little dining room."

“Provided you like my food, I would say the most pragmatic path would be to open the restaurant and start with small events first. Expand to weddings afterward.” It’s a big, demanding industry, but you already know you make a killer wedding cake and can manage the menus. It’s pretty literally your dream being laid out on the table here for you to prove that you deserve. “The menu I put together for the tasting can be done in just a few hours. I only need you to tell me how many I’m expected to feed and then I’ll get started.”

Reaching up, Champ rubs his jaw with his hand and hides a small smirk. "Oh I think enough for five or six should be enough." He tells you. "Yourself included."

“Very doable.” That’s just one batch of everything, and you can definitely pull that off without a problem. “Give me two hours, and come back hungry.”

"I'll send someone by in case you need something." Champ decides that he's going to give you space. He needs to fish your soulmate out of his bottle and sober him up a little before he meets you for the first time.

“Fantastic.” Two hours will be a hustle, but you know you can do it. There’s too much at stake here and too much potential on the horizon not to. Whoever this head hunter was that passed your resume on to Champ? You could kiss that person.

******

"Jack." Grunting, Jack tries to ignore the sound of his name being called. He hasn't slept, hasn't done much but drink and for the first time since that awful day Champ desked him, his eyes are closed on their own.

“Jack.” Champ growls his name on the fourth try, and when the best he gets from the noncommittal agent sprawled out on his own living room couch after living at the bottom of a bottle for two solid days is nothing - he holds up the pitcher of water he poured in the kitchen and unceremoniously dumps it directly on Jack’s head and chest.

"SHIT!" Jack sputters, coming up off the sofa in a shock of cold water like he's been hit with a defibrillator. Reaching for guns in holsters that aren't there. "What the — what the fuck?" He demands when he realizes that it's Champ and he slumps back against the now soaked sofa. "Go away."

“Get up.” Tossing him a towel from his other hand, Champ ignores Jack’s order completely. “You got someplace to be in…” he checks his watch. “An hour and thirty-one minutes.”

“Imma off d-desk duty already?” Jack asks, bewildered and he throws his hand over his eyes and groans in pain.

“No.” It would be funny if it weren’t troubling, and Champ shakes his head. “You’re gonna eat something. You, me, Tequila, Ginger, and Diana.” It’s as good a crew to taste test food as any, not to mention they’re generally Champ’s favourite people. His own soulmate is working just the same as any other afternoon, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind being stolen away for a surprise dinner. Diana Rogers is always a fan of surprises, so Champ makes sure to keep them locked and loaded for her at all times.

Disappointment rolls through Jack along with a wave of nausea. He’s not as young as he used to be and he’s gone through a least three bottles. “Not hungry.” He huffs, turning away from Champ and making to lay back down. “Another time.”

“That’s not an option, friend.” Producing a cup of coffee seemingly out of nowhere, Champ holds it out to Jack and hooks the thumb of his free hand into his belt. “I need you showered and lookin’ presentable. And reasonably sober if fuckin possible, so I’ll have Ginger bring you something to help with that if you can’t manage it yourself.”

“Shit.” It feels like a million little hammers from Satan’s army is pounding away inside his head, but Jack sits up slowly and belches. Groaning when the sloshing in his stomach feels like he’s at sea in a dingy during a hurricane. “Yeah.”

“Fine.” The older man nods and offers the coffee again, glad when Jack finally takes it and at least sniffs the brew. “You got clean clothes, or did you ransack your own house along with your desk?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jack grunts at him, not quite making sense. “Why are you in my house?”

“You never shoulda given me a key,” Champ jokes, allowing himself to find a little humor in the moment.

“Remind me to get it back.” Jack scowls and takes a sip of the coffee, hissing when it burns his tongue.

“Now is that any way to talk to a man who’s feeding you dinner?” It doesn’t really have much to do with him and he knows it, but Champ is still going to tease his friend now that Jack is on the other side of the bottle.

“It is when you’re dragging me somewhere I don’t want to go to eat food I don’t think I can stomach.” Jack grouses, throwing Champ a halfhearted glare.

“You’ll manage.” He hadn’t wanted to use this as leverage, but it seems he’s going to have to. “She’s here, Jack.”

Jack blinks for a moment, the alcohol in his blood making him a little slower than normal and then he huffs. “Fuck, Champ, is that why you want me to have some dinner?” He demands.

“Yeah, that’s why.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at Jack, studiously ignoring the indignant tone in his friend’s voice. “She’s cookin’ it, so you’re eatin’.”

There is a staring contest that last for about a minute before Jack sighs. “Shit.” He sets the coffee down and manages to stand, swaying slightly. “Let me shower.”

“She doesn’t know.” Champ tells him, putting out a hand to steady Jack a little before he heads to the stairs. “And it ain’t my place to tell her.”

“Well that’s something.” Jack mumbles, suddenly even less inclined to attend than before. “And nobody else better run their damned mouths.”

“Only you, me, and Diana know.” He has taken his concern for Jack home to his wife, knowing that the younger man wouldn’t judge him or be upset over it. “She’s here to interview for a job.”

“Jesus, Champ.” Jack jerks to a stop and even though he regrets it, his head whips back to look at him. “An interview? Whadya gonna do? Make her an agent?”

Champ huffs, hot air escaping his nostrils and making him feel like a goddamn bull on the charge. “Make yourself presentable,” he rumbles. “I’ll send Ginger to pick you up.” Without another word, Champ rocks back on his heel, pulls Jack’s spare house key out of his pocket, and drops it on his coffee table on his way out the door. If he’s gonna be an ass, he can be one on his own.

Jack blows out a sigh, feeling like an asshole now that the door slams behind Champ. He was out of line and regrets the look of disappointment that he saw in his friend’s eyes. Shuffling to the bathroom, Jack strips and looks in the mirror, disgusted with the reflection he sees.

******

Given what you set out to do, it's a testament to hard work and a small miracle that you have everything done in time. The very last thing to come out of the oven will be the soufflés, and those are scheduled to be done as the first course as soon as Champ returns with his four person entourage in less than two minutes. If there is any mercy in the world they might even come early and be witness to the tray coming out of the oven, because that would be an incredible flex. Everything has been carefully plated and arranged, and you've probably sweated out three pounds of water weight from all the running around you've done in this kitchen, but every single piece of equipment here is pristine and glorious. If you don't get this job you'll be more disappointed than you've ever been to miss out on anything, but at least you'll have gotten to cook in this amazing kitchen once.

Jack is as nervous as a foaling mare around people. He has shaven his cheeks bare and slapped aftershave on until it stung. Combed his hair and put on clothes that are clean and fresh. He feels like he should be confident, but he’s not. His stomach is rolling and it’s not from the alcohol. He had thrown that up in the shower. He’s nervous to meet this woman, this soulmate.

"Look who's up and about." Tequila gives Jack his most encouraging smile as he spots his friend walking up the path with Ginger at his side. "Champ invite y'all to join us for this thing?"

“More like ordered.” Jack mutters under his breath, but he gives a halfhearted shrug. “Guess he figured I needed some fresh air.”

"And he cleaned up all nice for us." Ginger jokes, trying to lighten the mood as best she can. She knows Jack has been inside his own shell for a few days, and why, but she knows that getting him out of the house is the best thing that Champ could have done.

He’s still slightly queasy, but it’s because of who he’s about to meet since Ginger had given him one of her magic hangover pills. “Yeah, yeah.”

"Good." Champ's voice booms over the distillery courtyard from the other direction as he skirts a tour group with his arm around his wife. "Everybody made it on time. Let's get in there and find out what we're eating, huh?" Satisfied to see Jack dressed and upright, Champ heads straight for the side door to the building that will let them directly into the remodeled kitchen.

Jack frowns and wonders why the hell they are eating in the kitchen but he follows suit, dropping back to walk beside Tequila. “How’d you get roped into this?” He asks the younger man.

"Volunteered." Tequila tells him cheerfully. The truth is that he would have begged to come to this thing after hearing you talk about your food on the jet, but Champ had obliged him easily. "Never gonna turn down a good meal, you know me."

Jack huffs at that truth. “You do think with your stomach.” He jokes, reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder. “Have you met her?” He asks.

"Picked her up this morning." There's a flash of something like being pleased on his face but he shrugs it off. He's made sure that he's cleaned up and even better looking - in his opinion - than he had been this morning. Just in case those flashes of smiles and laughter he'd gotten on the flight were for the same reason his were.

Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the tone and stature of the man beside him. There’s something in his voice that has him on edge but he can’t put his finger on it. “From where?”

"New Hampshire." Tequila's strides are just a tad longer than Jack's or Ginger's and he has to keep himself walking slower to be in step with Jack as Champ pulls open the door. "Flew her down on the jet. Champ's orders." The younger man still didn't really understand why a chef needed a security detail, but he was glad to oblige anyway.

It registers that Tequila doesn’t know. Champ had told him that he hadn’t said anything to you, but he had thought the agent had been brought into the loop. Jack relaxes slightly, his shoulders pulling down and he wonders if it’s a mistake. If you were meant to be Tequila’s soulmate and it would all be cleared up by the universe or fate or whoever was in fucking charge of all of this.

"Well damn," Champ chuckles jovially as the party files into the kitchen just in time to see you taking one last pan out of the oven on the wall. "Smells incredible in here. Looks like we made perfect time, didn't we darlin'?" You whirl around at the sound of the now-familiar drawl, prepared to answer the old-fashioned term until you realize that Champ has a woman on his arm when he walks into the room. She's about his age, bright-eyed and beaming up at him as she smiles, and your heart wrenches a little. No doubt this is Mrs. Rogers - most likely his soulmate - and the pang of knowing you no longer have a soulmate of your own sticks in your gut harder than you would ever admit. "Welcome back." You force yourself to smile and focus on the matter at hand, wondering who else the elder cowboy has wrangled for your little audition tonight.

Jack hangs back for a moment, almost unwilling to look towards the voice that sends a shiver down his spine. His mouth is dry and he rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. He doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s afraid.

“I’m set and ready to go, if everyone would like to take a seat?” You had taken the liberty of pulling six stools up to the end of one counter and setting out glasses of water right before you took the soufflés out of the oven, creating a small tasting table for everyone to sit at. “The first course is best served hot.”

There’s a moment where Jack just stands there. Unsure of himself and what exactly to do. His eyes looking from the table to the chairs and everywhere else until he finally looks up and sees you.

The small stack of plates in your hands hits the steel counter a little harder than you mean for them to when you glance up and meet the eyes of the last person to come through the door. He’s broad and lean, clean shaven except for an immaculate mustache and looking at you from under the brim of his crisp Stetson and your mouth runs dry almost instantly. As quickly as your eyes meet his you look away again, feeling your cheeks heat and the last thing you need is to be flustered while you’re trying to get through this thing. Just focus, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the plates to put each course on.

He feels like he’s been hit by a truck when his eyes meet yours. He hates it. Hates how his heart speeds up and his cheeks flush. Unable to shake it off as if it didn’t matter. The knowledge that you are his soulmate is weighing on him. He sees Champ shuffle, catching his eye and it makes him realize he had been staring. “What’s for dinner, darlin’?” He drawls out, as he would if it were any pretty woman.

"First course is a sweet potato soufflé with a blue cheese cream sauce." Carefully spooning the sauce over each soufflé and setting them down at the six places that you've set, you look around at the group and try very hard not to stare at this man you haven't met yet. "The play of natural sweetness with rich and complex cheese sauce makes for a dish that stands alone or compliments almost any protein."

Jack isn’t a fan of blue cheese and almost opens his mouth to say so, but there is something tantalizing about the smell. “Well shiiiiiiit.” Tequila speaks up before Jack can say anything. “That sounds disgusting but it smells like heaven.”

"I know blue cheese can be an acquired taste." More comfortable with the youngest of the men purely from having spent the most time with him, you shrug a little and chuckle softly. "But bold flavours are memorable flavours, and I believe in food being an important part of building positive memories." This meal is your sales pitch - selling yourself and your abilities to this company - and goddamnit a soufflé is just about one of the most technically difficult things to do perfectly. Which is exactly why you did it.

“Well I’m gonna dig in.” Tequila promises with a wink as he pulls a chair out to sit down. “Come on, Jack. You need to eat too.”

Jack. You do your best not to react with anything but pleasantness, and feel your shoulders relax as multiple sounds of enjoyment break out when people take their first bites. What starts out with hesitation from almost everyone turns into surprise and delight, and you have to admit that - if your portion is any indication - this is probably one of the best soufflés that you've made in an extremely long time.

There is something magical about the texture of this thing that he is eating. It’s creamy and sweet and savory. All of the flavors should clash but somehow they compliment one another and bring out the sharpness of the cheese and the sweetness of the yam. Jack groans after the first bite - surprised that it is not making his stomach do anything but demand more - and quickly goes in for a second bite.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’ from everybody, darlin’,” Champ chuckles, glad to see Jack acting like a human instead of a man-shaped bottle of liquor like earlier. Even if he’s not thrilled with his friend at the moment, it’s still good to see.

“It’s incredible,” his wife sighs, and she offers you a beaming smile. “I’d eat one of these every day for the rest of my life in whatever flavour you felt like.”

“Well, thank you very much, ma’am.” Even if she introduced herself as Diana on the way in, she’s still the spouse of the man making the decision about hiring you, so you’re going to be polite as hell. “They’re a particular favourite of mine, as well. I’m so glad you like it.”

Jack hates that he files that piece of information away, like he is memorizing your likes and dislikes. What does it matter? Your marks might be on his body but you aren’t his soulmate. His soulmate was Abigail Monique Daniels. Born April 24th 1976 and died August 12th, 1998. Instead of saying anything, he concentrates on his food, eating it faster than he anticipated, and slumps slightly when he’s done with the incredible soufflé.

When everyone has had what they like of the small first course, you collect the plates and deposit them in the sink before retrieving a set of six square plates from the fridge. Each has two petite sandwiches on them, and you set them in front of your panel of judges - for lack of a better term - with as much confidence as you can muster. “Our second course is dilled crawfish tea sandwiches. A distinctly Southern twist on a classic.”

“God, crawfish.” Jack groans, rolling his eyes and nearly drooling. It’s been awhile since he’s had the little mud bugs and he’s always enjoyed dishes with them in it. “This is— fuck—” He bites into the sandwich and his eyes widen in pleasure before they drift shut as he chews.

"I hate to agree with Jack," Ginger jokes, making everyone else at the table laugh. "But these really are excellent." Murmurs run through the group, but the buzz running through you is from Jack's very verbal reaction. Watching cowboys fluster and groan over little tea sandwiches is some kind of pleasure you never really expected, but it's gratifying in a very entertaining way. It's not, you tell yourself, that you find Jack incredibly attractive. Of course not. It's that this tasting is going so well. Yup. That's all it is.

“You’re gonna hafta make more of those.” Jack predicts, speaking to you for the first time. “Two ain’t gonna cut it once they taste ‘em.”

"They'll go straight on the menu, then." You may have been pushing the confidence a little bit until now, but this has you smiling immediately. This is going to work, you tell yourself, and ignore the little extra boost you get from someone you're attracted to liking your food.

“Damn.” Jack sits back when the sandwiches are gone, disappointed when everyone else is eating theirs, “I’d make a meal off of them.”

"Maybe sometime soon, you'll be able to." It's a hope, not anything cocky or pointed, and you don't even hear how it could be considered flirting as you take the second sandwich off of your own plate and place it on his when you get up to plate the next course.

He shouldn’t accept it, it’s part of your dinner, but he picks it up and nods towards you before he pops the sandwich in his mouth with a groan. The soufflé was good, but sandwiches like those are his weakness. Champ chuckles, leaning back on his hair with his arm around Diana. “Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, ain’t it Jack?” He teases, making Jack glare at him.

"Sure is to mine." Tequila pipes up, oblivious to any underlying meaning in Champ's comment. "What's next on the menu, darlin'?"

"The last two courses are sweet." The plating for this has to be done right before serving because of the various textures at play, and you bring the completed plates over two at a time to take away the sandwich plates as you set down the next. "Buttermilk biscuits with strawberries macerated in honey, balsamic vinegar, and cracked black peppercorn. Topped with bourbon vanilla whipped cream." There was no way you were going to do this tasting and not make biscuits. As a staple of Southern cuisine, the quality of a restaurant's biscuits can make or break their entire menu.

“Bourbon whipped cream.” Champ grunts, looking impressed at the mention of a boozy addition to the meal. “It sounds good. Real good. Mighty glad we found you. We wouldn’t be eatin’ so well tonight.” He tells you lightly, looking over at where Jack is sitting.

“This is amazing.” The woman who introduced herself as Astrid hums in delight. "I never would have thought all these flavours could go together, but it's heaven." She grins at Champ before flashing you the same expression. "I might want this instead of birthday cake this year."

“Probably have something even better for birthdays.” Champ nods towards you. “She’s a baker. All things sweet.” That gets Jack’s attention, his love of sweets making him really interested in that.

"So far I haven't met a cake that got the best of me." It's not bragging, you decide, but selling yourself. This is still a job interview and a taste test, and these people need to know that you can rise to any occasion that might land in your lap. "What do each of you usually like to celebrate with?"

“Oh, red velvet.” Diana moans happily, leaning into Champ’s side. “It was our wedding cake, even though it was scandalous at the time.”

Champ chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Always give my girl what she wants.” He jokes, winking at Ginger.

"Chocolate." Tequila's grin is impetuous, like the little boy who continuously got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Carrot cake, usually." Ginger smiles happily as she polishes off the last bite of her biscuit and its fruit sauce. "But I was dead serious about wanting this instead. That might be the best biscuit I've ever had."

"Well geez." You clear your throat, flustered at that level of compliment, while you file away the different kinds of cakes these folks might like to see pop up on a restaurant menu. "Th-thank you. Very much. That's an amazing compliment."

Jack squirms slightly in his chair. He doesn’t celebrate his birthday. It’s too painful. It’s a day he wants to forget exists. He hopes you don’t ask him about it.

“What about you two?” It’s like a horrific moment from some farcical comedy when you turn your bright smile on him and Champ. “No birthday favourites?”

Champ throws Jack a look and clears his throat. “I normally have red velvet, for the missus.” He tells you with a grin. “And Jack isn’t one for birthdays.”

“No?” This plate is a little larger, so there is more time to linger and talk. “That’s a shame.” But it also smacks of bad memories, so you just lend the man a sympathetic smile and try to ignore the twist in your gut that wonders if he lost his soulmate, too. “Well, I hope they start to be fun for you again sometime soon.”

Jack can’t offer more than a half hearted smile, doubting that very seriously but it’s nice that you care. Or at least make the appropriate noises. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen.” Tequila huffs awkwardly, giving a nervous chuckle.

Sensing the topic might be better left alone, you shut your mouth tight and stand from the table to collect empty plates. The last course is your ringer — your family’s favourite cake that gets made several times a year depending on who requests it for what occasion. Each small, star-shaped plate bears one large cupcake, decorated simply and beautifully. “The last course is coconut cupcakes with whiskey cream cheese frosting, using Statesman ‘82 Special Selection,” you explain as the last plate goes down. “I hadn’t tried it before, but Tex poured it for us on the flight here and the smoky vanilla notes are perfect for this application. Please, enjoy.”

Jack isn’t a coconut person. Never really cared for it, but his eyes close as he has a religious experience with a fucking cupcake. Groaning as he lets the flavors burst on his tongue and slowly chews.

Champ smirks, eyes crinkled in amused approval as he watches Jack fall in love with a goddamn cupcake. It’s damn good. He won’t deny that. But seeing Jack react this way when he knows his friend’s general aversion to the fruit is proof enough for him that even if you weren’t his soulmate, you’d still be the right person to hire for this job.

“I don’t even like coconut and I’d eat a hundred of ‘em.” Jack groans as he finishes up his cupcake and looks around the table at everyone else to get their input.

"How many times have you gotten men to propose marriage with this cake, honey?" Diana jokes, swiping up a missed blob of frosting with her finger so nothing is wasted. You laugh, an actual real, deep belly laugh, and shrug innocently. "Family legend says that it's how my Grandma Jane got her beau to propose," you admit. "My grandfather always said he was going to ask anyway, but we all think it was the cake." The family recipe is one of great important and great popularity, and clearly with good reason.

Jack shuffles in his seat, another damn fact to learn around you and he knows he won’t forget it. Damn mind is trained to remember facts and his brain seems to think that learning about you is a good thing.

"Your granddaddy'd be off his rocker not to ask after a taste of that." Tequila declares, leaving a completely clean plate in front of him. He's got a warmth in his chest and a pride in his smirk at having influenced something you made tonight, even if it's only by accident, and he swears to God that if Champ doesn't offer you whatever this job is, he'll hop back on that jet to New Hampshire himself to hear that laugh of yours again. "Dontcha think, Champ?"

Champ raises a brow at the obviously smitten cowboy and sneaks a glance at Jack who is studiously ignoring the entire conversation and drinking water like a dying fish. “Have to agree.” He chuckles, amused by the development and wonders how this little love triangle will play out.

"Well," you sit back on your stool, looking between the smiling, seemingly satisfied faces and feel your heart stick in your throat. You've done all you can do. If they like your food this much to your face but decide not to give you the job, then at least you put your best foot forward. "Thank you for your consideration. I'll clean up here and find my way to the address I was given to stay at tonight while you make your decision." The staffer, in her polo shirt and khakis, that had come by an hour into your cooking time had dropped off an address allegedly on the Statesman campus that would be yours for the night, but you didn't know yet if it was the same one that Champ had said on the phone would belong to the person who received the executive chef position. And right now you're far too afraid to ask.

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” Champ leans back in his chair and rubs his belly. “We’ve got some talkin’ to do, but thank you for a fine meal.” He turns towards the others, about to tell Jack that he should walk you to the accommodations you’re staying in, he should recognize there. But before he can, Tequila leaps out of his chair.

“I’ll walk you!” He blurts out, cringing a little at how loud he had gotten and gives a small shrug. “I mean, I’ll help you clean up and show you where to go, give you an unofficial tour.”

"That's very nice of you." He's sweet, this towering cowboy with the bright smile, and while Jack is far more your type, there's no denying Tex is attractive. "I'd appreciate the extra hand to figure out where I'm going. This place is kind of huge." If you've only got the one night here, it won't hurt to pass it in good company. As attractive as you find Jack, and as much as he seemed to like your food, you don't get the feeling that he likes you very much.

Tequila lights up and it takes everything in Champ not to snort at his eagerness. Jack looks like something’s stuck in his craw, his slight frown making the older man smirk as he watches the two of you gather dishes and carry them beyond the barrier into the belly of the kitchen. “You coulda offered, ya know.” Champ tells Jack, making the other man huff.

“I’m going back to my place,” He sulks, standing up and glancing towards the doors again, seemingly torn.

"At least say good night," Diana urges, seeing the hesitation on Jack's face. "She worked hard tonight and you liked what she made, so just...stick your head in? Say good night? There's no harm in being polite."

“Damn fool.” Champ hisses, making Diana turn and shush him. “Can’t see that it’s a damn blight on her memory to be actin’ this way.”

"Everybody mourns differently, Rick." Diana murmurs, shooting her husband a fierce look as they both watch Jack shuffle his feet at the turn of the long kitchen, debating whether or not to go in.

Jack has never had fucking sweaty palms, never. Not even when he was standing at the altar waiting for his sweet Abigail. Now, it feels like his hands are coated in baby oil. He can’t keep them dry, rubbing them on his jeans for the fourteenth time since he’s stood. “Damn Ginger and her hangover shit.” He mutters to himself, rolling his eyes over how juvenile he is being. Rolling his shoulders back, Jack assumes the bravado and cockiness that he is known for and pushes through the barrier to stride into the kitchen.

You practically jump when the door opens again, not having expected anyone to come in. Tex is beside you at the sink, loading the dishwasher after you rinse off plates, but when you spin around you're surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway with a charming grin painted on his face. "Jack." You swallow your surprise at seeing him along with the laugh that had been bubbling out of you when you heard him approach. "Can I help you with something?"

“I’ve got to get goin’ miss.” He murmurs, suddenly a lot less eager to escape, but it’s for the best. “Just wanting to thank you for the fine meal.” He reaches up and tips his hat towards you. “Have a good night.”

"Thank you very much. But hang on one second." Quickly running over to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, you rummage for a few seconds before coming out with a container bearing the rest of the crawfish salad you had used in the sandwiches, and another bearing two more of the coconut cupcakes that he had ended up loving. "Take these with you," you insist, holding them out once you're in front of him again. "In case...in case I don't get the job, ya know? You seemed to really like these."

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he silently takes the containers. Touched that you would give away the extras because he had liked them. It’s only when they are against his chest does he remember that the entire point of him coming into the kitchen was to be polite. “Thanks, sugar.” He drawls quietly, looking down at the food. “I—I appreciate that.”

“It was very nice to meet you, Jack.” He seems slightly odd, or maybe just taken off guard, or maybe he’s sad. You can’t tell, but he was very nice about your food and you’ve always been the sort of person to return kindness with kindness.

Jack stares at you for a moment, conflicting emotions waging a war inside him as he does. Finally, he reminds himself that you don’t know who he is and he’s free to leave. He nods again and looks past you towards Tequila. “Behave.” Jack tells his younger friend, knowing that he can get rowdy when he wants.

“They call us Southern gentlemen, don’t they?” Tequila shoots Jack back a wink that you don’t catch and grins. “Y’all get home safe. I’m just gonna show our new friend here around the place.”

Jack frowns as he turns around and walks out of the kitchen, bitterness swelling in his gut and he hates it. He reminds himself that this isn’t his place. He killed your soulmate.

“He seems nice,” you observe, trying to shake off the odd feeling that washes over you when he looks sad again before walking out. Like you want to rush after him and give him a hug or something.

“Jack?” Tequila looks up from the pan he is washing and gives a shrug. “He’s a damn good man. Going through a rough time.” It’s not his place to mention it, especially to someone who’s not aware they are all agents. So he leaves it at that. “But he was right, those were some damn fine desserts.”

“Thank you.” The way that makes your cheeks burn is professional pride, you tell yourself unconvincingly. “I’m very hopeful. This…this job would be a dream, and everybody has been so nice. It would be…a real adventure, ya know? A big, fresh start.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. “Workin’ for Statesman is never dull. Always havin’ an adventure or ten since coming on.”

Taking the last pan from him, you load it into the industrial dishwasher and shut the machine, pressing the button on the side before you wipe your hands. “What’s the most fun you’ve had working here?” You ask, wanting to see if you can get a feel for this place and these people and what their adventures might be.

“Well–” Any and all stories would have to be tamed down for your ears. Plus you don’t have a security clearance. “There was the time we had someone try to break into the facility to steal a barrel of the ‘65. It was personal then.” Tequila huffs. “Best damn batch we have.”

You’re about to ask how that could possibly be fun until you remember he’s security and you end up shaking your head and laughing. “Do you get that a lot? People trying to break in, or theft?”

“More than you’d think.” He snorts, knowing how it might seem crazy to a civilian. “It’s why our security system is so advanced. If you run across some hardware you don’t recognize, best to stay away.”

“Really? Wow. I wouldn’t have thought it would be that bad.” Leaning back against the sink, you stretch your arms and feel a little bit of satisfied soreness coming through your muscles after a job well done. “You must have a big team, then? Champ made it sound like a lot of employees live on the premises, but that would make this place absolutely huge.”

“Yeah.” Tequila hooks his thumbs through his jeans belt loops and grins at you. “Lotta technical stuff they do, don’t understand it, but the big brain was here. Astrid? She’s over our R&D.”

“Damn,” you murmur, impressed. “Well…are you up for that tour? I’d love to see the whole place.” Just in case it’s the only chance you get.

Winking at you, Tequila straightens and walks over to you to offer his arm. “Nothing like a nice night and a pretty girl to walk with.” He flirts.

“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not the first girl you’ve ever said that to?” Not that you care, though. You’re not one of those uptight people who thinks people should only ever be with their soulmates. And even if you were? Well…you don’t have one anymore, so it’s kind of a moot point. Instead of lingering on it, you grab your bag from under the counter and take the arm you’re being offered with a smile. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

“Who knows, might be the last time.” Tequila murmurs, aiming another grin at you as the two of you make your way out of the kitchen and through the empty dining room. “This is going to be our newest venture.” He teases. “Some kinda tea room? With Whiskey? I don’t know but the food’s amazing.”

“Oh god, don’t curse it,” you groan playfully, wiping one hand down your face.

“Naaaaahhhhh.” He chuckles and opens the door for the two of you to walk out into the late evening twilight. “I can tell you’re gonna get it.”

“Either way, I’m glad I came.” Sure it’s different from New Hampshire. Drastically, in some ways. But you’ve lived your whole life on the sea coast and Louisville is a big city. It would be, just like this interview, a big adventure.

“You’ll be enjoyin’ the country and mountains in no time.” Tequila predicts, bringing you around to see the distillery up close.

The facilities are actually beautiful. Equally rustic and hyper modern depending on the building, with aesthetically gorgeous gardens lining all the walkways as far as the eye can see. The main building is full of offices, Tex explains, and even those are as beautifully kept as the rest of the grounds. It’s impressive, you have to admit it. You were absolutely right to think this place would make an amazing wedding venue. It will - for you or for whatever chef gets hired.

The path for housing is off the main distillery, secluded enough that people don’t feel like they are living at work. Trees and shrubbery separating the spaces so that it feels like a little relaxing oasis. The path way is lit, Diana insisting that it makes the entire area look romantic and of course Champ wasn’t going to deny her. “This is our housing.” He tells you. “We decided to go with the theme and model them after mountain ‘shine cabins. With modern conveniences, of course.”

There’s big houses and little houses, and what looks like a small apartment complex to one side of the neighborhood built on Statesman grounds. On the other side, beyond what you can only describe as a small park and grove of trees, are three much larger houses that smack of importance or seniority. “Who lives in those?” You ask, pointing toward the trio.

“Those belong to our senior staff.” He points at the largest. “That’s Champ’s in the middle and Jack and Ginger on either side of him.”

"Ginger?" Tilting your head at him slightly, you ask the quest with your brow slightly furrowed. "What does she do?"

Tequila winces, catching his mistake. “Astrid.” He corrects. “We just all call her Ginger. Nickname of sorts.” He can’t tell you that it’s her code name Ginger Ale.

"Got it." You nod, remembering that he had said Astrid ran the research and development department at Statesman - whatever that meant when it came to whiskey. "I'm guessing that one is hers?" The house on the right of Champ's is hyper modern with clean lines and very little of the mountain-aesthetic charm of the other houses around. It looks like it was made just for her with all the bells and whistles. Conversely, Jack's house to the left of Champ's looks like an almost Victorian-style ranch house with a wrap-around porch and a paint job as pristine as his mustache. It's much more your style than Champ's mountain cabin or Astrid's smart house, but since it doesn't matter at all you don't say anything about it. "Which one is yours?" The question is out of your mouth before you realize how exactly it sounds, and your eyes go wide with embarrassment just a split second later.

Tequila grins at you, sending you a small wink. “Come on, darlin’.” He drawls playfully. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” He knows you don’t mean it how it sounds, but he can’t resist teasing you. He moseys down the path and points to one of the small cabins. “That one there is mine.” He tells you proudly,

"It looks comfy." True to bachelor form, which you expected, the curtains hung in the windows are dark and 'masculine' in a deep shade of green, and a glimpse through into the garage reveals a large, shiny pick up truck that is probably his pride and joy.

“It’s where I hang my hat.” Tequila looks at the cabin fondly. It was probably the most secure he’s ever been in his life and he risks his neck on every mission. “And there’s where you’re stayin’.” He points at a newly built one off to the left, nearer to Jack’s. “It’ll be yours if you get the job. It’s furnished.” He rushes out. “So you won’t be sleeping on the floor or nothing.”

"We'd be neighbors," you laugh, as if everybody here doesn't live in the same neighborhood. It's a company town without feeling creepy or oppressive. This is the end of the road, both literally and figuratively, and you offer the man beside you a smile. "Thank you for the tour. And for being so friendly today. I've been nerve wracked since 9am, but whether you knew it or not, you helped calm me down. I appreciate it."

“No problem at all.” Tequila senses that you aren’t going to invite him in and while he’s disappointed, he’s not going to complain. Some women need to be wooed and you seem like the type to like the effort. “There’s a fresh bottle of the ‘93 in there, made sure of it. Lighter, but it’ll put you to sleep just like a baby.”

“Thank you.” There’s a hesitation, and though you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s there, you listen to your gut and squeeze his arm gently before slipping your hand out of it. You’ve never been one to fall into bed on a first date - and nothing about this very odd but fun day was ever a date to begin with. And hell, if you actually do get hired here, that could be a hell of an awkward situation. “Hopefully,” you shrug, feeling like if you don’t at least say something you’ll regret it later on. “I’ll see you again. Fingers crossed, and all that.” It’s so stupid when it comes out of your mouth that you almost wince. “I’m gonna retreat,” you announce, huffing at your own awkwardness and pointing a thumb toward the door of the little house you’re meant to stay in. “Before I embarrass myself or say something dumbass. Good night, Tex.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.” He sends you a wink and steps back from the cabin steps that you two had managed to drift towards. “Let me know if you need anything but I’m sure they put everything by you need in there.”

“I’ll come knock on your door if I need a cup of sugar,” you joke, reaching for the doorknob. Dumbass. You waited too long and said something dumbass. Chuckling instead of wincing, you say another good night and go inside. Time to call your family and tell them everything that happened today.

******

Jack tells himself that he is just making sure that you are safe. You are technically his responsibility now. At least until someone in the universe realizes they fucked up. Guilt is another reason why he’s standing in the shadow of the large oak tree, watching you walk into the cabin and close the door behind you. Tequila turns and strides towards his own cabin, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath and Jack sighs in relief when he doesn’t spot him.

The house is gorgeous. It’s simply decorated but welcoming, clean and crisp and clearly unlived in. The kitchen has a spectacular range and a huge fridge, which currently stands empty but has a map of the Statesman campus stuck to it with a Stetson-shaped magnet and there is a bottle of ‘93 on the counter as promised. Deciding to call home after you have a drink, you pour two fingers of single malt into a glass from the cupboard and continue to wander around the ground floor.

“You could always go talk to her.” Jack doesn’t react when Champ steps up next to him beside the tree. His own gaze fixed on the newly built cabin. “Can’t be more than thirty steps to her door.”

Jack purses his lips, unhappy that his friend is in his mind. “Champ…” He warns, not wanting to be pushed right now.

“Well,” the older man shrugs, a small smile on his face as always. Champ perpetually looks as if he’s up to no good - mostly because he is. “Somebody should tell her she’s got the job. Don’t see why she should be twistin’ til tomorrow morning.”

“You’re really going to do this? Open up some tea time type thing?” He huffs, unable to believe such a thing would go over well in the whiskey distillery. Even if you are an amazing baker. “Just to keep her here?”

“It’s a restaurant.” Champ reasons, hooking his thumbs in his belt as he watches you appear in an upstairs window. You’re on the phone now. “I wanted a steakhouse for the place, but Diana said it was boring.” He laughs, knowing his wife was probably right. “She’ll make a good run of the place, and she’s got a mind for expanding it to do weddings.” He glances down at Jack but doesn’t push the point. “Good head for business is what she’s got. We’d be lucky to snag her even if she weren’t who she is.” Or what you are to Jack.

Jack sighs, resigned to the fact that you will be here. He’s not opposed to the idea, he likes anything that makes money. But he knows this was catered to you so you would stay. “She’s gonna hate me.” Jack predicts, guilt hanging around his shoulders again.

“Maybe.” Though Champ chuckles affectionately. “Hell, you’re my best friend and even I hate you sometimes. But…she might surprise ya, Jack. Can’t know unless you try.”

“She’s not Abigail, Champ.” Jack whispers the words softly, almost shamed by them but he can’t help his feelings. He never expected to have another soulmate…ever.

“Of course not.” He answers immediately, brow furrowed over the very idea. “Nor should she be. You’re not the same man you were back then.”

“I– I don’t know how to be a soulmate anymore.” That’s his biggest fear. That he would be horrible at it, or God forbid, lose someone again. Jack is scared of nothing, but this has his heart hammering in his chest.

Champ sighs, softly and hopefully not enough for Jack to hear. “How about just bein’ her friend?” He suggests, wondering how in the hell this thing with Tequila was going to play out alongside Jack’s fears. You might end up being trouble for Statesman, he can’t know yet. “For all you know, this second soulmate of yours could be platonic and you’re worryin’ over nothing.”

Jack chuckles and it’s a harsh sound. “Have you ever known anything about me and another woman as pretty as her to be platonic? Few exceptions of course.”

“Only gorgeous woman you’ve ever been strictly friends with is Ginger.” Champ admits, snorting in amusement. “But I’d like to watch her wife whoop you for tryin’.”

This time, Jack’s laugh is lighter, more genuine. It was true that while Gabriella looks innocent, the woman could - and would - knock a grown man on his ass. He’s witnessed it at the bar more than once. “One if she crushes me with her thighs.” He jokes.

“I’m sure she’d oblige if you asked.” The two men laugh, feeling the tension dissipate a little, and Champ claps his hands on Jack’s shoulder in that brotherly way he’s become accustomed to do. “Tonight or tomorrow,” he tells Jack. “Tell her when you’re ready. But she’s goin’ home on the jet tomorrow to pack, not to leave for good.”

Sighing, Jack turns and watches Champ wander back towards his own house, Diana no doubt waiting for him. He should tell you tonight. Not let you wallow in misery and suspense. After you get off the phone, he’ll go knock on the door.

******

“I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out, but…I kind of love the people I’ve met so far,” you admit to your mother, sinking down in the window seat that faces the backyard of the little cabin that someone will soon be living in. The guest room has a beautiful reading chair and end table in it, but the master bedroom has a window seat so plush and comfortable that you could just sleep right here. “It’s beautiful here, too. It really is.”

“You said they loved it, that has to mean you are going to get the position.” As disappointed as she will be to have you move away, she knows that it would be fantastic for your career. “Your own restaurant! Just imagine what you could do without having to pander to someone else’s ego.”

“Dad will be thrilled to know the house has a guest room,” you joke, feeling hope flutter in your chest and staring out into the backyard with the now-empty glass still in your other hand. “And the yard could have room for a garden if I wanted.” You sigh, leaning back against the wall and wishing you didn’t have to wait until morning to find out. “If I don’t get it, we should bring him down here for his next birthday. Celebrate sixty-five with a distillery tour and a trip to Dollywood. It’s only a couple of hours from here.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” She promises, smiling at the wistful hope in your voice. You want this position, that much is obvious. “Tell me – how did the coconut cupcakes go over?”

“Like gangbusters.” And your giggle is nearly triumphant. “The owner’s wife joked that it’s good enough to get a proposal so I told the story about grandma and grandpa, and…” you grin to yourself thinking of Jack’s ecstatic reaction. “There was one guy at the tasting who doesn’t even like coconut who was completely in love with them. I think I may have converted him.”

“You know…your grandpa didn’t like coconut either.” Your mother practically cackles. “Said she won him over. Only coconut thing he would ever eat.”

“Seriously?” That makes you laugh a little harder, and you wish you had just one more sip of whiskey in the bottom of that glass. “I don’t want to jinx it,” you tell her finally. “But I have a really good feeling about this place.”

“Good feelings inspire good outcomes.” She hums, hoping that you will call her with good news tomorrow. “I can’t see them not hiring you after sending a private jet.”

“I hope so.” You really, truly hope so with everything you’ve got. “Either way, I’ll be home tomorrow. Either to pack or to wallow in disappointment.”

“Either way, we are going to celebrate.” If there was one thing that was taught in the household you grew up in, it is that even losses are celebrated. Because it meant you tried, and it would make you try again.

“Okay.” Nodding against your phone, you sigh softly again and roll your shoulders back against the wall. “I’m going to pour myself another drink and watch a movie until I’m ready to go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Your mother murmurs softly. “See if they have a soaker tub to lay in. You managed to work on your day off too.” She tells you that she loves you and ends the call.

She’s right, but you decide that whiskey and a movie sounds better than a bath and you wander downstairs again. The bugs sound different here. Kentucky air smells different from New Hampshire air. But still, somehow, it could very easily become home.

Jack sighs when he sees you walk back into the living room, phone not pinned to your ear. He should go talk to you. The first step seems to take forever - the length of time it takes you to pour a drink - before he starts slowly walking towards your house.

The knock is unexpected, and part of you wonders who you hope is on the other side of that door - Champ with his decision or Tex offering company. Or even Jack, handsome and slightly sad Jack, though you can’t figure out why he would visit you. “Coming!” You call out, leaving your drink on the kitchen counter and hustling through the living room. A split second before pulling open the door you decide you’re hoping it’s Champ more than anymore, but when you see Jack standing on the front step instead, your heart jumps a little. “Jack!” It makes your voice jump, too, and you groan inwardly about being awkward around him yet again. “I—I wasn’t expecting anyone. What do you…” Be polite, dammit. “Would you like to come in?”

Swallowing, Jack gives a small nod as he curses himself for being a fool. It’s talking to a lady, something he had no problems with. It didn’t matter that he is wearin’ your ink. “It’s not too late, I hope? I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all. I was just going to have a drink and relax.” There’s no reason on earth he should make you so nervous, but he does, and you bite the inside of your lip. “Would you like to join me?”

“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down some whiskey, even though they should have left you a ‘82. Better year in his opinion.

You pace back to the kitchen, pour a second glass, and bring it back to Jack with a thick swallow. “To what do I owe the visit?” If it were actually your house, or even a hotel room, you would feel so much more comfortable and be more at ease as you motion for him to sit. As it is, you just feel like you’re trespassing in somebody else’s home.

“Wanted to see if you liked the place.” Small talk is a good place to start, he guesses. Taking the glass with a nod of appreciation, he looks around. “Not just the cabin but Statesman itself. The whole shebang.”

"Honestly?" Sitting on the edge of the sofa isn't exactly relaxed, but you perch there with your glass in your hands. "I kind of love it. I mean I'm trying not to get too attached until I know what's going to happen with the job, but...I really like it. Everyone's been so nice and the whole place is so welcoming." It's silly to feel that way, you know that. But even after only a few hours, you can't deny it. "I have kind of an instinct about places, most of the time. And I have a really good feeling about this one."

“That’s good, sugar.” The endearment slips out, not the first time, but he realizes it this time. “Would you accept, if you’re offered it?” He’s curious to know what you are leaving behind, what you might balk at. Maybe you don’t believe in soulmates and have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.

This isn't the time to get all emotional over manners. Southern men using pet names is normal, not something to get you all flustered. Even though it does - as evidenced by the stack of cowboy themed romance novels on your bookshelf at home. "I think I would," you nod, letting yourself take a steadying sip of your drink. "It's...pretty literally my dream job, if I'm honest."

Jack nods, swallowing a mouthful of the whiskey, enjoying the burn of the liquid. He’s hesitating and it annoys him. “Then I guess that it’s a good thing you’ll get to live out your dreams, sugar.” He tells you with a whimsical smile. “The job is yours for the takin’.”

"Wait." Your eyes dart up to his, going from staring down into your cup to blown wide and hopeful in less than a second. "A–are you serious? Is that why you came?" It would be entirely inappropriate to start crying in front of a complete stranger, but you're instantly so excited you could burst.

“Champ’ll want you to sign papers in the morning, but I’m serious.” He nods and gives a small shrug. “Figured I’d bring you the good news so you didn’t have to worry all night. I always sleep like shit if I’m ponderin’ something.”

"Oh my god." Your heart is pounding and you feel like the blood pounding in your ears is so loud that he can hear it too, but frankly you're just glad that you manage to put your glass down on the side table without spilling it all over yourself. "Oh– oh my god." The way you practically squeak with glee makes you clamp both hands over your mouth in embarrassment despite the excitement glistening in your eyes. "I'm sorry, I just... really? Champ said yes?"

The genuine excitement and happiness that fills your face and eyes has Jack grinning despite himself. Your little squeak was full of joy and he can feel you vibrate with energy from where he’s sitting. “Champ said yes.” He confirms. “Hell, I think he’d be a fool not to say yes.” Maybe a bit of an embellishment on his part, but that’s because he knows you would be offered a chance to stay regardless of your skills. However, you truly are talented and Champ wants to make this tea room a reality.

“That’s so kind of you.” Your hands slip down, resting over your heart as you try to contain your excitement. If this wasn’t a complete stranger in front of you, you would be literally dancing with joy right now. “That’s so unbelievably kind of you Jack and I—” Breathe. Don’t get so breathless that you embarrass yourself. “I swear I won’t let any of you down.”

His heart clenches, knowing you will be saying something far different if you knew what he had done. There wouldn’t be a sort of hero worship he sees in your eyes even though he just delivered the good news. “Sugar, you make sweets.” He jokes. “There’s no way you could let us down. Unless the cake don’t rise.”

You laugh, charmed slightly at the term of endearment that is in almost every one of your cowboy novels but somehow seems even more appropriate now that it’s be used pointedly with you as a baker. “I would never let that happen,” you promise him, crossing one finger over your heart like a solemn oath. “My Grandma Jane would sense it somehow, rise up, and come down from New Hampshire to see me straight.”

Of course you would be from New Hampshire. Jack manages to not react and instead he gives a small chuckle like he was supposed to. “Now you should be able to sleep like a baby.” He considers it for a second and shrugs. “Or not sleep at all because you’re excited. This will be your house by the way. So imagine how you’re going to move things around.”

“I might not sleep because I’ll be rearranging things.” You’re brimming over, practically giggling and tearing up as your heart pounds with excitement. “This is…it’s…” The breath you blow out comes with another barely contained squeak. “I feel like I want to celebrate but I have no idea where to go around here.”

Jack lifts a brow, surprised you don’t want to get back on the phone but he chuckles. “Well, there’s Shootouts, about five miles down the road.” He tilts his head. “It’s a rowdy place most nights. But it’s fun.”

“Rowdy sounds fun.” Most of the time, the dive bar you frequented at home was full of locals having shouting matches and screaming at the hockey game on tv or bitching at each other over a shot at the pool table. Working in kitchens, rowdy is par for the course. Most people just don’t expect that of you when they find out you make dainty little cakes for a living. “Do you…” you tilt your head at him slightly, wondering why your chest clenches at the thought. “Would you want to come with? Or do you have someone to get back to?” That big house of his must be lonely if he lives there all alone.

He shouldn’t but he also can’t leave you on your own at Shootouts. He could see that being a disaster in the making. “Warning.” He cautions. “They sell beer and whiskey, no mixers or cocktails.”

“You say that like you think I’m going to fan myself or be scandalized.” Which is what most people who don’t know you assume, so you can’t blame him. “But whiskey’s always been my favourite flavor.”

Jack smirks, automatically coming up with a dirty come back but he doesn’t say it. Flirting would be wrong, even if you are beautiful. Instead he tilts his head towards the door. “Get your jacket then, sugar.” He tells you. “We’ll take my Bronco.”

Glasses abandoned to side tables, you grab your leather jacket off the rack by the door and pat the pockets to make sure your cash and cards are inside before following him out the door. His house is a mere five minute walk from the – from your house – and you marvel excitedly at the neighborhood around you when you step outside again. This is it. Your new home.

“Don’t eat the bar nuts.” Jack chuckles as he motions you towards the Bronco. “Think they’ve been there since the 40s. Let me grab the keys and we’ll go.”

“Got it.” You chuckle as he heads into his house. It gives you a moment to quickly pull out your phone, tapping out a text to the family text thread to let everyone know you’re going out celebrating your brand new job.

Jack changes from his sports jacket into a black leather one that would be better suited for the bar. Unconsciously matching you slightly with your own leather jacket. He grabs his keys and heads out the door and jogs over the Bronco, showing off by hopping in rather than opening the door.

“So is Shootouts where you usually go to hang out?” Tucking your phone away, you slide into the Bronco’s soft leather seats and buckle up. Now that you know you’re staying here, you want to know absolutely everything.

“It’s been known to be taken over by Statesman personnel.” Jack grins. “The locals can be a bit much but they are half drunk most of the time.”

“I’ve spent years hanging out with line cooks,” you tell him honestly, settling back in the comfortable seat as he pulls out of his driveway. “So that sounds pretty relaxing to me.”

“From what I know about kitchens, that checks out.” Jack laughs as he starts driving down the road to lead out of the Statesman property.

The ride is cordial, and fairly short. You mostly listen to the radio together, comparing notes on mutual favourite classic rock bands and talking about Kentucky in general. Finding out that Jack isn’t actually from here surprises you initially, but it’s a fond reassurance that this is a place that people grow to love and feel at home in. Something that you’re already starting to do after just a few hours.

Pulling into the gravel parking lot, Jack throws the Bronco into park and turns towards you. “If it ain’t your style, lemme know and we’ll get outta here.” The jukebox is cranking out a country rock song and the noise from the bar reaches all the way past the shine of the neon light.

“Don’t worry about me.” You assure him. Jack is funny and sweet, you’ve discovered, when he doesn’t have resting sad face. You lend him a grin and point your thumb at the bar. “I like a good country tune and a little line dancing now and then.” It’s an understatement, considering how much you love to dance, but you’re trying not to be overeager or infodump.

“Oh you’re gonna be like a tornado in a trailer park, ain’t cha?” Jack huffs and he hops out of the Bronco and walks around to help you out.

“Maybe.” You grin, tip of your tongue between your teeth and nose wrinkled on a grin when he comes around to the other side of the truck. “Very gentlemanly of you.” It’s simple, and polite, but when you put your hand in Jack’s to accept his help in climbing out of the Bronco you nearly shiver at the contact.

Jack’s mouth is suddenly dry and he needs a drink. The tingling of your skin against his is subtle, so much that he swears he’s imagining it. “Right,” he clears his throat and closes the door behind you. “Let’s celebrate.”

It’s loud inside, raucous patrons and well-placed speakers blasting country rock as a few people dance and some play pool; but most are gathered in booths and around tables talking and laughing and having a good time. “I like it,” you declare unequivocally, sensing immediately that this place is full of the best kind of fun.

Jack smirks, appreciating that you can enjoy the lack of fussiness. It’s a rustic place and some, especially the women who came here from big cities, didn’t care for its appeal. “Then let’s get a drink.”

You’re not an unrealistic person, and no matter how often Jack or the crew from Statesman might come here, almost nothing gets a bartender’s attention faster than being flirted with, so you pull on the front of your blouse just enough to deepen the vee of the neck and sidle up to the bar. The man behind the bar makes the expected beeline for the unknown pretty woman batting her eyelashes at him. “Statesman Red Label for me, and a glass of whatever my friend wants,” you tell him, motioning to Jack just beside you.

Snorting in amusement at how fast the bartender’s eyes drop down to your cleavage before even giving him a second look, Jack raises his brow. “Just gimme a beer.” He tells him, knowing that he should pace himself, especially given how rowdy the place will work itself up to as the night goes on.

“What kind of beer do you drink down here?” Even as you all the question, you’re checking out the tap handles to see if there’s any you don’t recognize. After all, local beers change region to region. You’re not exactly betting they’ll have Sam Adam’s Summer Ale here when the weather gets warmer.

“They have all the domestic.” Jack tells you as he nods towards the draft handles. “But they also keep the Kentucky Bourbon Ale on draft.” He chuckles, knowing that it’s a bit of a cliche. “Best damn beer you’ll ever have.”

"That will have to be drink number two," you tell him, taking the recommendation seriously considering he - and you now - work for a distillery. You'll pace yourself, of course, but you're celebrating and can drink most line cooks you've known under the table. Two drinks is nothing. "The Red Label is always my celebratory drink. Well...normally it's a Red Label Manhattan, but you said they don't mix drinks here."

“We’ll have to make sure you have a bottle of Red Label then.” Jack leans against the bar and decides that it’s only polite to ask a question. “So Statesman isn’t a new whiskey to you, huh? Do you drink it often?”

"It's my dad's favourite. And became mine, too." He smells clean and woodsy and there's something musky like surprisingly high end cologne coming from him that makes you want to just curl into him and sigh in comfort - but that's a goddamn weird thing to think, so you just enjoy the sort of halo around him. "Today is definitely not the first day I've used Statesman in my baking. I just never knew much about the company before." You shrug slightly, trying to seem relaxed instead of like a damn cavewoman with goosebumps from being so close to him. "I guess that's going to change pretty quickly."

“Considering you can go into the distillery and draw some straight from the barrel to put into your cakes and pies, I’d say so.” Jack groans as he imagines it. “If you make bourbon soaked peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon cream, I’d sit up and beg.”

"That sounds like a hell of a twist to my peach cobbler. Bourbon soaked grilled peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon ice cream that also uses Bourbon vanilla." You hum a little, digging for your credit card when the bartender reappears with your drinks.

“Now you really expect to pay?” Jack might have his moments, but he’s a gentleman. “Put that away. Drinks are on me.” He tells you, turning to the bartender. “Put them on my tab.”

"As long as you let me pay next time we go out." You shouldn't get a little thrill at the idea, but Jack is the spitting image of every single cowboy love interest in every one of your books - or at least the way you picture them. Even if he's just a friendly face you see from time to time, you're damn well going to enjoy it.

He frowns but doesn’t say no. It’s hard to let someone else pay, especially when it was a woman. Not because he was sexist or some shit, but because his daddy would roll out of his grave and whoop his ass for letting a woman pay while she was out with him. Instead of making it a thing, he picks up his beer. “To new jobs and delicious sweets.” He toasts. “Cheers, sugar.”

"Cheers." The rim of your glass taps the neck of his beer bottle and you smile before taking your first sip, loving the familiar burn and cherry-caramel tones of this particular bourbon. There's a reason it's your favourite. "So tell me about Statesman," you ask, turning and leaning against the bar to face Jack. "How long have you worked there?"

Jack hums, thinking about it. “Since ‘99.” Champ had come around the year after Abigail had…. “So you can say I’ve been there awhile.” He interrupts his sad train of thought and quickly takes another swallow of his beer. “It’s turned from a two bit operation into what it is now.”

Since ‘99? You blanch a little thinking about how young you were then but decide not to say anything since it hardly matters anymore. Grown ass adults are grown ass adults. "Tex said you used to work security?"

He can't answer that. Or, doesn't want to so he merely grunts and gives a quasi nod. Delving into his background would reveal too much that he doesn't want you to see. Champ still hasn't told him what kind of security clearance you will have, if any, and it wouldn't be right to start unfolding how Jack had been recruited to the agency.

Okay…maybe not talking about work, then? He seems reticent and you don’t want to accidentally upset the man you came out with - for various reasons. Not the least of which is that you do not like being the reason people are upset. “He, uh– Tex speaks very highly of you,” you try again, steering it in a slightly different direction.

Snorting, Jack sends you a look of amusement and lifts his beer up before taking another sip. "He should, I got him the job." He tells you, remember the skirmish that he had gotten into and been surprised when the rodeo clown had been very cool under pressure.

“Yeah?” That would definitely account for some of the way Tex talked about his older coworker, and you have to wonder if more people at Statesman have close working relationships or if these two men are outliers. “That must be a good story.”

"Not much of one." Jack hums, giving another slight shrug. "Way he tells it is that I was having my ass handed to me and he had to come save the day. But I was holding my own. It was eight to one." He smirks and sends you a small, cocky wink.

It is extremely cavewoman of you to find that so sexy, you tell yourself, burying the way you have to bite your lip behind your glass to keep from saying something suggestive, and taking a sip. “What did you do piss off eight guys?” You ask instead, trying to look only mildly curious instead of on the edge of your seat.

He can't tell you that he was running down a human trafficking ring so he just sends you a small smirk. "They were pissed off that I hit on one of their girlfriends." He boasts, figuring it was as good of a story as any. The real story was that he had managed to get one of the women out and they hadn't been happy when they stumbled upon them leaving.

“Scoundrel.” It’s just teasing, and you don’t hear how much like flirting it really sounds as you shake your head at him in amusement. “I hope she was worth fighting over.” It occurs to you for the first time that he might have somebody waiting for him in that house on the edge of Statesman grounds and your stomach twists unpleasantly.

"Comes with the territory." He looks around for a moment, trying to ignore how your lopsided grin makes his pulse tick up. "You bringin' someone special with you?" He asks, telling himself he's just asking so he can assuage this guilt over killing your soulmate.

“Oh, sure.” You know what he means, but it isn’t the case. There hasn’t been much time for dating lately and with the disappearance of your soulmate’s marks, you’ve been processing the disappointment in knowing that true love is officially off the table - which might make you feel dumb sometimes but at least you’re honest with yourself about being disappointed to have to live without it. “I think my goldfish is really going to like the new house.”

Not sure if he’s relieved or even more guilty, Jack nods. “Sure think Goldy would like the eastern window, huh?” He asks, chuckling to himself as you take a sip of your drink. You’re easy to get along with and if it weren’t for who you are, he can’t even deny he’d be doing his damndest to take you back to his bed tonight.

“Yes, the Doormouse will love the eastern window,” you over-exaggerate, laughing as you think of walking your little fish tank around the house presenting the goldfish with multiple options for a view. “He’ll insist on a stroll around the garden each day, I’m sure.”

“You should build him an outdoor swimming hole.” He chuckles, leaning into the idea. “Maybe a stream so he can pretend he’s free.”

“I think the backyard of the house is too small.” It’s not something that bothers you at all, since you hadn’t even thought of it yet, but you hum over the image and let yourself indulge in the fantasy. “A pond with a little stream and a garden of flowers and herbs. That’s what he’ll get to adventure through one day. But maybe not yet.”

“Hell, that sounds like a good little adventure to me.” Jack muses, an amused little smile on his face.

“Should I call you the Doormouse, too?” You tease, even though you have a feeling that grin of his makes him more like a troublesome Cheshire Cat.

He realizes that you are making a reference to Alice in Wonderland and for a brief second, his mark - your mark - seems to burn. “Like the movie or the book?” He asks casually.

“Well…the Doormouse is in pretty much any adaptation of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Alice Through the Looking Glass.” The fact that he recognizes the character isn’t exactly niche, but it’s certainly not like you called him a Mad Hatter or something. “They’re…they’re my favorite stories. They have been since I was a kid.” As if to prove it, you pull up your right shirt sleeve and show him the tattoo on your arm. “I guess you can blame my obsession with tea parties on it, too, honestly.”

He learns a little bit about you, probably more than he would have if he guessed. “What’s the appeal?” He asks, curious as to why a child’s story has carried into adulthood.

“Haven’t you ever felt terribly ordinary?” To you, it seems like it must be a universal experience. Everyone, at some point in their life, has felt like the least extraordinary person in the world. “Maybe it’s juvenile, I don’t know. But the idea that Alice feels so entirely ordinary in her existence, and then falls into someplace entirely wonderful…even if it’s scary at first? It seems like that’s something everyone deserves. To find the place and the people that make them feel that life is extraordinary.”

“Have you found your wonderful place yet?” He can’t fault your logic, understanding now the ink that is in his own skin. “Or are you still looking?”

“I’m still looking.” Shifting your sleeve back into place, you shrug half-heartedly. You had thought that finding your soulmate would help you to that extraordinary life, but now that will never happen. If anything, you feel farther from it than ever. Although you’re not the sort to give up hope. “But who knows? Maybe it will be Statesman.”

“Statesman has a way of collecting a ragtag bunch of people.” Jack confides, knowing he is better because of his involvement with the organization. He would have been dead by now if Champ hadn’t come along. “And we have whiskey.” He adds, sending you a wink.

“And now you have crawfish sandwiches and coconut cake, too.” A little wink shouldn’t be anything to fluster over, but you can feel your cheeks heat instantly.

“For someone who said they are a baker, you make a mean crawfish salad.” Jack groans, wishing he had some right now.

“They’re even better when they’re on fresh baked bread.” You tell him, maybe a little smug even though you’re just being honest. “Champ said I get to design my own full menu, so I promise they’ll be on there.”

“I’ll be swinging by everyday for lunch if you’ll let employees eat.” Jack promises, lifting his beer to his lips again. “Have to start running again. Or beat the shit out of Tex in the boxing ring some more.”

That makes you snort - as inelegant a laugh as it is - and you’re just lucky you hadn’t taken another sip of whiskey yet. “What did the poor boy ever do to deserve a beating?” You plead his case for him since he isn’t here to do it himself. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were brothers with that kind of threat.”

For a split second, jealousy rears its ugly head before Jack tamps it down. The defense of the younger man has him puffing up his chest slightly and he exhales on a laugh. “Near as, I guess. But I’m the older, more handsome of the two.”

Well…he isn’t wrong, and you’re not going to contradict him. Instead, you down the last sip of whiskey in your glass with a tip of your head and hold out your hand. The jukebox is playing good music and you’re feeling bold. “C’mon, older and more handsome.” You put your hand out to him, praying you’re not making a mistake. “Can’t celebrate without dancing a little.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate, but he’s cautious. Sure that he’s going to fumble and reveal something. “Don’t complain if I stomp on your feet.” He teases with a grin.

“I might be a bull in a China shop ” you tease, thrilled that he didn’t turn you down as you step away from the bar together. “Only one way to find out.”

“Only one way.” Jack murmurs, remembering Champ's words about getting to know you as he turns around and walks backwards onto the floor holding your hand. Before he pulls you into his arms, he twirls you around to the beat of the music.

You practically squeal with glee at the surprise of being spun around, expecting that he would be able to dance but not necessarily expecting he could move. Stevie Ray Vaughan is blasting out of the jukebox and you’re suddenly glad that one boyfriend in culinary school had been into swing dancing, because Jack definitely knows what he’s doing on a dance floor. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room while you’re talking - which they also say about politicians and other charismatic characters - and it’s magnified when he dances. There’s something carefree about him like this, or maybe it’s that he makes you feel carefree. Either way, each time he spins you back into his arms or slides his hand around your back, you swear you hold on just a little bit tighter.

It’s been a long time since Jack has danced for the pure pleasure of it. For a mission, to seduce - he’s put himself out on the dance floor. But he’s not on a mission and he has no intention of seducing you so this is almost carefree. Making him grin when you give a throaty laugh as he swings you around again.

The song changes but the tempo doesn’t, and you’re having so much fun that you barely notice the other couples that have gravitated to the dance floor with the magnetic energy you and Jack are giving off in waves. ’Sharp Dressed Man’ seems like an anthem for the men of Statesman from everything you’ve seen, and you laugh happily at the whooping and hollering from the other patrons of the bar. As long as you’re attached to Jack somehow, everything else in the world just drips away.

There’s a softness in your laugh, the way you toss your head back that makes Jack relax. Right now he’s not thinking about soulmates or his sins. Just the pure pleasure of dancing with you. There are no ulterior motives here, no games. Nothing but joy and exactly what you came here for - celebration. But when Jack spins you back into his body and your arms fall around his shoulders to hold him to you on the last beats of the song, you swear your heart has leapt to your throat.

There’s a two second change from the songs. Suddenly slowing things down and the laughter of the moment gives way as your features settle, making Jack clear his throat. “Um, uh, you want to play some pool?” He asks, knowing that it wouldn’t be a safe bet asking him to slow dance with you. He can’t get pulled into the moment and he feels like that would happen.

“I—um…sure.” Disappointment. That’s what the bitter taste in your mouth is, you realize once you process the complete hundred and eighty degree turn the moment just took. It could not be more loud and clear if he had said it in words: Jack has no romantic or sexual interest in you whatsoever. Well, fine. If that’s the way he feels about it then you’ll just compartmentalize for now and deal with it later, as your disappointment definitely is a sign that you were on your way to feeling something. You step back, not wanting to crowd him and make him uncomfortable, and nod awkwardly as you wipe your damp hands on your jeans. “Let me just…grab us another round?” You can still be friendly, after all. There’s no harm in that.

“You go pick a table sugar, I told you that you ain’t paying for drinks tonight.” Jack gives you a friendly grin, seeing the disappointment in your eyes. It echoes the same sentiment that is beating in his chest, although he knows you would feel different if you knew the truth. “You want a beer this time?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you nod, assuming he won’t have shitty taste in beer. Not if he works for a distillery.

“Be right back.” He can’t help himself, hand reaching out and squeezing your hip reassuringly before he turns to head towards the bar to get the beers. Maybe have a shot too.

Blowing out a gruff, annoyed-at-yourself breath, you turn in the opposite direction to find a pool table like Jack suggested. There’s a group of a half dozen or so men milling around with cues and drinks and you can’t quite tell which tables they’re occupying, so you figure it’s just easiest to ask. “Either of these tables free, fellas?” You ask, shoulders tipped back with your hands in your back pockets, figuring that tits subtly on display is just an easier way to cut into the conversation. It worked with the bartender, didn’t it?

The self appointed leader of the group, a tall, burly biker complete with leather riding vest and an American flag bandana on his head, looks you up and down and chuckles. “Do you want us to teach you, baby doll?” He asks, the thread of mocking obvious in his tone. Holding up his pool stick, he points to it. “You hit the balls with this. It’s a pool stick.” The other men laugh and snicker along with him.

“I’m sure you boys don’t wanna be bothered with some girl in the way, so I’ll just grab the other table for me and my friend.” It’s not worth explaining to these Neanderthals that you know how to play. That your first cooking job was in a bowling alley and pool hall that served the most amazing burgers and sandwiches of all time. The other line cooks and the chef had all been fans of the games and taught you all their tricks.

Chuckling again, he places his que on the floor and leans in. “How about you play with us, sweetheart?” He asks, grinning. “We’ll only bet small amounts.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. They’re assuming you can’t play and you’re absolutely certain you can hold your own — if not downright wipe the floor with them. But your pride is stinging a little from feeling like Jack rejected you, so you flick your eyes up to the leader of the group and shift your weight into one hip. “How small is small?”

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, the group of men seem to crowd around you. The talkative one rubs his chin and pretends to consider for a moment. “We’ll say…hundred bucks a ball?” He offers, like is the deal of a lifetime.

It's too good. They're too cocky and too blinded by their own ridiculous posturing to see that you have given them absolutely no reason to think you can't play. But hey - you started the morning playing patty cake with your niece, punctuated it by flying on a private jet and being offered your dream job, and now you're about to end it by whooping these idiots' asses. What does it matter that one handsome brand-new acquaintance didn't want to slow dance with you? This isn't middle school. Shaking off the urge to smirk, you put out your hand with full confidence. "You got yourself a deal."

Jack whistles to himself when he comes over, two beers and two shots in hand to see that you are around a table with the Broncos Bike Club. Assholes when they get beat and sore winners when they don’t. “Well sugar, I see we are in for some fun tonight.” He drawls as he sets the beers down on the side of the table and hands you a shot. “You know what you’re doin’?” He asks quietly.

"I wouldn't get sucked in on a hundred bucks a ball if I didn't," you whisper back, tapping your shot glass against his before downing the liquor and sighing happily at the burn. That definitely wasn't Red Label, but it was good. You'll have to remember to ask Jack what it was later.

Jack grins and gives you a small chuckle. “Lemme guess, they think you don’t know what a pool cue is? Did they call it a stick?”

"A pool stick." Nodding solemnly to keep from giggling, you pick up the beer that Jack brought you and take a sip. The choice earns a happy hum from you, and you reach for a cue and chalk from the rack on the wall. "All I did was ask if one of the tables was free."

“Morons.” Jack huffs before he moves closer and leans down towards your ear. He knows what the outcome will be but he encourages you anyway. “Kick their asses, sugar.”

"Oh, I will." Playful instinct tells you to smack a kiss to his cheek but you don't, figuring that there's no use in anything affectionate like that if he has no interest. And though you might be playful or casually flirtatious with your friends most of the time, you don't yet know if he is - so it's better to just not. Instead you chalk up your cue and turn to face the table. At a hundred dollars a ball, this is going to be a hell of a game.

“Well boys.” Jack puts his hands on his hips and chuckles. “Rack ‘em up.”

They make a big show of it, condescendingly pointing out the order of the numbers on the balls and laughing amongst themselves, and you swear it just makes you wish you were wearing heels so you could grind them into the floor with the spikes. "Are you gonna keep running your mouth or do you actually want to play?" You ask, leaning against the pool table with your beer in one hand and the cue in the other. At this point they're bordering on pissing you off.

Buster, the leader of the group, sends you a condescending smile and motions to the table. “Lady’s first.” He chuckles and looks back at his buddies. “Bet she can’t even break properly.”

Jack huffs, watching as you take a large swallow of your beer and set it down on the edge. Leaning over the table as you line up your cue, he can’t help but glance at your ass. Lord have mercy, you have a nice one. You set up on the right of the Baulk line and look up at him right before you take your shot. “Stripes.” You call before the cue ball even strikes the group and Jack watches as the 9 and 11 balls drop into the corner pocket.

“Damn.” Jack whistles, grinning at the sour looks on the boy’s faces. “Lucky break.”

"Beginner's luck," grumbles one of the other men, leaning back on a nearby table with his beer in one hand and several empty glasses nearby.

"No givin' her pointers," demands another, pointing at Jack threateningly. He saw the dandy checking you out when you bent over to break and dancing together before that. And he ain't an idiot.

Jack holds his hands up and makes a face of compliance. He’s not going to try to sway the outcome of this game, although he knows how it’s going to end up. Luckily, the bartenders and bouncers are used to Statesman agents quelling bar fights, or starting them only to finish them, so they never interfered. “Lady’s game.” He promises, watching as you walk around the table, analyzing your next shot before deciding that you would bank the cue ball off the left corner of the table to drop it into the right pocket. Jack sips his beer as you do exactly that.

Buster shifts the way he's standing with affected laziness, seeming as though he is barely paying you any attention while he actually watches to make sure you're not cheating. "At least do us the favour of bendin' further over the table when you shoot, babydoll." He chuckles, not giving a single goddamn ounce of care for manners. He takes what he wants, and right now he wants a view. You roll your eyes subtly at Jack, letting him know that you're not bothered, and intentionally squat at the table instead of bending as you check out the angle for your next shot.

Jack huffs in amusement, a small smirk on his face when he watches you sink the next two striped balls without so much as brushing by the solids.

One after the next, the striped balls drop into the pockets on command, and the men around you grow more and more flustered with every shot. By the time only the 8 ball remains, there is practically steam pouring out of their ears and one of them has all but literally thrown his hat on the ground, but you remain placid. No gloating or teasing that will make their moods worse is due here. The satisfaction of proving them wrong by winning is all you're aiming for.

“Now, if I ain’t mistaken things….” Jack drawls, rubbing his chin and staring at the table. “She sinks this, she wins. Right? Or are you wantin’ her to clear the table?”

The deliberation happens in grunts and glances, as Buster's minions decide that the best way to teach you a lesson is to have you do more of what you have amply proven that you're good at. They only need you to fuck up once for them to run you off the table with insults and heckling. "Clear it." Buster insists, somehow managing to follow the string of unintelligible sounds that the men around him made.

The smirk Jack gives you is smug and he nods. “You heard ‘em sugar.” He chortles. “You gotta clear the board to win. 15 balls.” It’s obvious that the numbskulls didn’t think about the fact that they would have to pay you an additional $700 for that, but Jack did. He sends you a small wink and an encouraging nod.

If, one day many years in the future, you're ever a famous enough chef for there to be a film of your life, you're going to insist that this pool game be a part of it. Each ball is its own geometric problem to solve, but you do it carefully, and you do it well. The expressions of sheer and utter dismay on each man's face turn to ruddy anger as you call “Eight ball, corner pocket” and sink the very last ball with a tiny tap, sending it spinning into the corner pocket that it was sitting next to. "Well, boys," you lean against the table with a satisfied grin and rest one hand on your cue. "Looks to me like this empty table is going to end up emptying some wallets."

Jack finishes the rest of his beer with a sigh, draining the mug and setting it down on the high top table a few steps from the pool tables. He knows what’s about to happen and his lasso and whip are tucked away behind his jacket, ready to go.

“You tricked us, you bitch!” Buster growls, backed up by the agreeing ‘yeah’s from the motley crew behind him. “You said you couldn’t play pool.”

“Did I?” Sure you’ve hustled a few times in your life, but you definitely didn’t tonight. Your head ticks to one side and you lean against the table easily. “Or did you just assume, because I’m a girl?”

From the way his face blanks for a moment, buddy boy knows that’s the truth but when it passes, there’s a decidedly mean look on his face. “I’m not payin’ a fucking hustling whore a fucking dime unless she’s sucking my dick.” He growls, making Jack’s jaw instantly tighten.

“Now Buster,” Jack slowly drawls out, turning their attention from you to where he is standing with his hand on his hip as he shakes his head. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?” He asks. “You owe the lady an apology and fifteen hundred dollars. Fair is fair.”

“She ain’t play fair!” The scrawniest of the group points at you like he’s about to accuse you of witchcraft. “Schemin’ cunt don’t deserve anythin’ but a lesson.”

There’s a lot of talk that Jack will let slide, especially in a rough and tumble place like this, but the boys don’t know they just fucked up. His eyes darken and go flat, the edge of a smirk on his lips has no humor in it. “You might want to take that back, Junior.” He spits, fingers itching to grab his whip. “No need for that or I’ll be teachin’ the lesson.”

“Jack…” Glancing back at the man you came here with, you can feel the change in the air here without hesitation. While it would not in any way be your first bar fight, you’re not sure that these are the kind of fellas you ever want to throw the first punch against. Not because you’re afraid of getting your ass handed to you, but because you don’t like the prospect of spending your first night in Louisville getting arrested.

“What the fuck are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” The scrawny one - the one Jack called Junior - drawls as he reaches into his pocket. Out comes his hand again a second later, now adorned with brass knuckles. “Only thing you oughtta even be considerin’ is gettin’ this dried up cunt bitch out of our sight before we make her regret lyin’ to us.”

His chuckle is low, rusty and his own hand reaches behind his back to pull out the butt of his retractable whip. “Manners maketh man, Junior.” Jack hums. “That’s the lesson today.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Scoffs another man in the group - the broadest of all of them - as he cracks his knuckles in your direction.

“It means a Kentucky ass-whooping.” Jack declares, right before Junior decides to launch himself at Jack. With the single press of a button, the whip spirals out from the handle of the whip and Jack wastes no time cracking it through the air to wrap around the man’s throat as he yanks back on it to send the burly biker careening past him and into the table right behind Jack.

It all happens in a split second, and you’re smart enough and quick enough to dive behind Jack right before it does. You can defend yourself. You absolutely can, and have on multiple occasions. But fuck if seeing Jack step in for your honor isn’t one of the goddamn sexiest things you’ve ever experienced. Two of the bikers throw themselves at him on command, with just a glance from Buster, as Junior’s face comes into collision with the flat of the table.

A fight is like a well coordinated dance. Timing and footwork are everything. Jack flicks his wrist and the whip unwinds from around Junior’s neck to slash around and strike one of the two across the cheek, slicing open the skin as neatly as any knife. Causing the man to howl in pain and stop in his tracks as he grabs his face. The other keeps coming, making Jack smirk as he pulls back the whip and tucks it away before pulling out his lasso. He might be showing off as he twirls the rope, but he doesn’t look over for your reaction as the man charges towards him.

A barfight it’s not supposed to be sexy, you lecture yourself sternly, finding that you’re too mesmerized to even hide. The men clearly don’t feel the need to fight you, only Jack, so you’re left standing with your back to the nearest wall in awe of how fucking agile he is. But where did he—? Is that a lasso? What in the hell…

When Jack ropes the man, he drags him towards him. His fist coming out as he strikes him directly in the nose with one, two, three rapid punches.

“Fuckin pretty boy city slicker and your hustlin’ whore!” Buster’s patience has worn thin, watching his minions drop around Jack like so many fruit flies. He charges at the two of you like a bull, and for a second you’re certain he’s aiming to ram his head right into your stomach against the wall.

Jack looks over, whirling his lasso over his head now that the other man has crumpled to the floor at his feet. Snagging the table, Jack rocks back on his heel and heaves, the momentum dragging the lightweight table up and hurling it through the air towards Buster.

Ducking to your right, you dive out of the way just a second before the table connects with Buster’s side. It sends him in the other direction, propelling him into the wall and crumpling in a heap on his side as he clutches his bleeding head and howls in pain - bandana’d skull connecting with the sturdy wooden walls instead of with your abdomen and compounded with the force of splintering wood on his back.

There are two more that had decided that the better part of valor was staying out of it and Jack raises a brow at them to ask if they wanted to try their hand at him.

The older of the two remaining men clears his throat and straightens his back, knowing he doesn’t have a dog in this fight to begin with. “Pay the lady,” he orders his friend, a little under his breath.

Jack watches warily, coiling his lasso up as the other one begrudgingly pulls out a stack of bills. “Lay the bills out on the table and then get your friends out of here. They’re done for the night.” He tells them sternly. He doesn’t trust them not to try to cheat you out of the full amount and it’s also a lesson in humility.

The younger man bristles at having to be the one to pay, but he begrudgingly does as he’s ordered. Fifteen hundred dollar bills all lined up on the felt would be a big enough adrenaline rush even without everything that had just happened, and you watch him count them out carefully. Once the total you’re owed is sitting in plain sight you reach for the bills, tucking them into the front pocket of your jeans. “Well?” You nod your head toward the crumpled, groaning masses of their friends. “Pick ‘em up.”

Only when they turn to their friends and the atmosphere of the bar has turned friendlier as other patrons return to their drinks or conversations does Jack grin at you. “Weeeewh.” He huffs, reaching up and readjusting his cowboy hat with a cocky jaunt. “Kinda feelin’ like a tornado in a trailer park.” He jokes before he cocks his head towards the bar. “Want another round?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed that.” One eyebrow ticks up at Jack as you look around at the mess you made. One broken chair and one smashed table, with other things out of place - it could be much worse. You can’t help the way his sheepish smirk makes you smile, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “Yeah,” you agree, feeling the pulse of excitement and attraction. Even if he’s not into you, you absolutely can’t deny being into him after that Purebred Cowboy display. “Let’s get another round. And I can give some of that cash to the bartender to pay for what we broke.”

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “It’ll go on the bill to Statesman.” He promises. “This ain’t the first rodeo in this place.”

“Hell of a first impression to make on my new employers,” you grumble ruefully, although you’re still grinning. “Or was that some kind of rite of passage I didn’t know about?”

Jack considers it for a moment and chuckles. “I guess it could be.” He shakes his head and leans against the bar again, lifting his hand to the bartender.

“You causin’ trouble again, Jack?” The bartender eyes him suspiciously. “Or did they deserve it?” He knows damn well those bikers are always trouble, but they drink their body weight and always pay, so he usually doesn’t fuss.

“They wanted to call the lady four dollar words and didn’t want to pay when they got beat at their own game.” He tells him, giving him a small shrug. “So I taught them some manners.”

“Long as they deserved it.” The bartender brushes it off. “Another round?”

Jack looks over at you for confirmation and when you nod he does as well as he turns back to the bartender. "Let's do another round of shots and beers." He tells him. "She worked up a thirst beating their asses at pool and I worked one up beating their asses."

The feel of being very pleased with yourself rolls down your spine like a drop of sweat and you sit up just a little bit taller on your barstool. Jack’s smug expression says that he’s just as proud of himself as he is of you, and you raise your shot glass to him in salute when it’s set down in front of you. “I am definitely going to like it here.”

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

[pennyserenade]

‘til the cows come home 

pairing: agent whiskey x female oc , agent whiskey x reader summary: jack daniels is the sort of man lucky enough to happen upon beautiful women’s windows, and she is the sort of woman unfortunate to want men who do that. it’s been working beautifully ever since he did. warnings:language, lots of fun nasty stuff: thigh riding, oral (m and f), pinv sex (protected though! stay safe), breeding kink (but you really might miss it if you blink), dirty talk, a little bit of sexual repression being talked about, but certainly not had. word count:5.7k+ (i was possessed) rating: e (explicit) author’s note: this might just be the dirtiest thing i’ve ever produced and i’m oh so proud of it. i hope you enjoy this cowboy like i do. also, this is sorta like a historical au. when writing it i kept imagining the wild west and i don’t know, the influence is too ingrained in it for to be considered anything else. that’s what happens when you read dirty historical romance novels <3

Men had a habit of falling into her life. It was a simple, inarguable fact she had done little to conceal, partially because most of them weren’t her fault.

Jack Daniels was one of these men. While most of them had come to her in a variety of ways (through the doors of saloons, on the backs of horses, carried seemingly by the wind), Jack quite literally had fallen into her home, and she supposed, right into her heart.

She always did have a soft spot in her for the rugged and that night when he had scaled the side of her house, cursing under his breath and fighting for dear life to hold himself up on her second story window, he had been preparing himself for a lifetime of being cared for.

Too startled to have screamed, she had sat on her bed and stared at him through the moonlight that cascaded in. His black hair fell over his perspiration-covered forehead and, from what she could see over the shadows in her room, he nursed a black eye and a bloody lip. Despite the injuries and his state of dishevelment, when he looked up at her with those puppy dog brown eyes and held his finger over his lips, bidding her to remain silent, she knew he was a thoroughly handsome man. Handsome men often got themselves in trouble in her town, she knew, so she didn’t say a word.

Jack now comes in through the front door instead, but the state of him can never be predicted. Tonight he was neatly done up - freshly shaven aside from his mustache - and wearing clean clothes without wrinkles. She wondered, as she ran her hands over the fabric that stretched attractively across his broad shoulders, what person he had conned into doing his laundry. A bit of envy buried itself in her at the idea of some other pretty woman working his fabrics in water and soap and pinning them to her line, as though he was hers. It was not in her nature to pry or ask about other women, or even, really to think those thoughts at all - for when you concern yourself with handsome, nomadic men, you break your own heart - but she was fond of this cowboy. She liked the look of his deplorable fabrics hanging next to her Sunday best on the line.

Just because the idea of this other woman made her feel sort of mean, she tugged gently at the back of his thick head of hair. He grunted at the sensation and tilted his head back to ease the minute pain of it. A handsome smile curved itself on his lips when his eyes made contact with hers. “Oh darlin’,” his voice dripped, just like honey, “You can’t be tugging at me like that or I’ll find myself in the position to plead for more.”

“You’re too good lookin’ for your own damn good,” she muttered, though not unkindly, before pressing her lips to his smooth cheek. She could feel the way the skin tightened from the strain of his grin.

“One could say the same ‘bout you. Sure many have, Miss.” Acting quick as she released her grip on his hair, Jack took her arm and pulled her down to his lap. She went down without a fight and he ran his nose alongside her jawline intimately as a reward. “If I was sensible, I’d make a woman out of you.”

She turned her head and pressed her lips softly to his. “No one’s asking you to be that, now.”

“I’m afraid of the day I come back to this town and you’re wed to someone else. Last time I heard a gunslinger down at that saloon you like had his eyes set on you.”

“A gunslinger.” Her fingers played with the back of his hair. “I don’t recall bedding one of those.”

He grinned at her feigned ignorance. “I won’t pretend not to be wounded but I understand a woman like you has desires.” Her lips pressed to the side of his teasingly as he continued to talk. “I only request that you not tell them you like the feel of them best.” He halted his speech, relishing the fact that one of her kisses made contact with his lips, setting him ablaze in a way she could not possibly know. “Please,” he pressed out, “Save that line for me.”

She wanted to tell him what a damn fool he was, but that would mean to take a bit of magic from their arrangement. To enlighten him on just how fond she was of him - to tell him that she hasn’t had a gunslinger, or any man, since the last time he left - would make it a burden to him. And to her, really. She liked this cowboy but to love this cowboy would take away a freedom she liked to exercise since she found out she could: kissing and not telling. To marry a man is to tell the entire town of your business, especially when it ends in children and —

Jack pulled at the skirts of her dress, successfully distracting her from the steady flow of burdensome thought. “Goddamn, woman, I’ve been tryin’ to hold off since I got here but I’ve wanted you since I was four towns away and those little kisses of yours are downright devious.”

She wrapped herself around his neck and Jack, knowing what this meant, gathered her up into his arms and stood. The creak of his chair sliding against the hard floor made her laugh.

As he carried her to her room, she pressed her lips to the part of his neck that always him come undone when he was in her arms and was too overcome to stop it. The fact that he let out an audible gasp now told her all she needed to know about just how much he wanted her. In a strange way, it made her feel positively and blessedly woman.

His touch was hardly what could be considered gentle as he laid her flat on the bed and pooled up the skirts of her dress. She laid on her back for him, arms stretched out wide, feeling the soft fabric beneath her and embracing the heavy thud of her heart. A genuine smile worked itself into her lips as Jack’s fingers made quick work of pulling down her undergarments. She began to feel the makings of her own desires for him bubble up inside.

Jackson was a good lover. Not too selfish, not too rough, not too plain, and certainly not unadventurous. He liked to be teased and tested, didn’t mind stumbling his way through a new position, and he proved himself experienced with all the classic ones. One might even say he was giving, what with the way he’d already shot down on knees she knew ached (he was too hard on that good looking body of his) and began to make his way up her legs.

“Jack,” she whispered into the night air. She always did like the sound of it off of her lips, almost as though it had been meant to be put there. He planted warm kisses up the side of her left leg, then switched to her right when he found himself above the knee. Her fingers dug into the blanket on bed, anticipating what was to come. Just the feel of his lips and his warm breath on her sensitive skin was enough to do her in. When he found her cunt with his tongue, she knew there couldn’t be much more he could extract from her.

The tip of his tongue parted her folds. He worked slowly, lapping up the taste of her as though it’s his first. When she bucked her hips up, trying to get him to go faster, he did - and more. He dipped the tip of his warm tongue inside of her teasingly and then ran it through her folds again, and again, and again, each time barely reaching her bundled nerves at the top with his nose. The feel of his mustache against her was one she’d missed - one she always missed. She didn’t like bedding men with mustaches anymore because it felt like a betrayal to him. When she touched herself, she did it with the memory of his and his alone against her.

“Jack,” she moaned, not knowing what else to do with her want other than to speak it. Jack worked to relieve some of the want when his lips crowded down over her clit and his tongue did that delightful flickering that had once been new to her before him. And then, all at once, he was sucking at the tender bit of flesh above her cunt, pushing her into overdrive.

As if he knew what her reaction was - and it’s likely he did, having drawn it from her time and time before - Jack pinned her hips down with hands. “Oh God,” she moaned, fighting the urge to wiggle as he ran his tongue over her cunt again, and then back up to clit. “Oh God, Jackson. I feel like I'm in Heaven.”

She wished that she hadn’t been wearing a dress when he walked through her front door. She wished that she had been stark naked as the day she was born, in fact, so they wouldn’t have had to dance around the formalities of meeting each other again. He wouldn’t have had to conceal any of his desires. He could’ve stared unabashedly at her, then set her on the table where they’d been before and done just this to her. And she could’ve seen it. That’s what she really wanted, to see it. His head was hidden beneath her skirts and he was doing excellent work, but nothing compared to looking down and meeting his hungry gaze.

He managed to make her body come to its most natural conclusion despite the lack of visuals. Jack had her rutting her hips against his mouth, overriding the pressure he applied to keep them pinned - a true nod to his talents. She felt so full of want for him, even as she rode the waves of her pleasure and felt warmth evade her. There was no man who did it quite like Jack. Insatiable. He made her completely insatiable.

He reappeared from her skirts, mouth covered in her slick, but uncaring. He kissed her on the mouth, letting her taste herself, and she did him one better, opening her lips so he could taste her further. Before he pulled away, she sucked at the end of his tongue. This drew a deep moan from him, something that came straight from the belly.

“I missed you.” He told her as his hands groped at one of her breasts. Once more she cursed herself for wearing the dress, because she wanted nothing more than to be bare for him. “I hardly even take women who aren’t you anymore.” Jack looked vaguely pained as he laid down next to her and examined her clothed body, and then his own. “Turn yourself around and let me undress you.”

She did so happily, laying flat on her stomach nearly the instant the words came from his mouth. He unbuttoned her buttons expertly, even in the dark, borne no doubt from the habit of having done it many times before. She helped him take herself out of the fabric, pulling her arms out, leaving her only in her chemise.

He turned her back over towards him and then took her still clothed nipple into his mouth. The hot feel of him on her made her crave him entirely too much for her own good. The feeling became something she felt deeply within her, in a spot reserved for all of her deepest, most true desires. It was a place that demanded nothing but the truth to be set ablaze - the spot before her cunt, low on her tummy, where all her desire surged together before they exploded in her most intimate place - and tonight it revealed many of those truths. She wanted Jack more than she had ever wanted anyone at the moment.

She could feel the outline of his erection against her side as he moved to the other side of her and took that nipple into his mouth. Her fingers ran through his hair as he twirled his tongue around her. “Undress,” she pleaded, feeling as though the word had been stuck in her throat since he laid her down on the bed.

Never one to deny her anything, especially like this, he drew himself away from her body and stumbled his way through taking himself out his freshly laundered clothing. First came his shirt, which he undone in record speed, pulling it so quickly off his frame she hardly had a chance to admire the bare flesh he presented before his pants came off with it. Then came his underwear, leaving him stark naked at the foot of her bed. He was as handsome as he had been that night when he fell into her room, maybe more so now that she knew what it was to touch him.

She held herself up with her elbows to get a better view of the length of him. If she had been in a more playful mood, and wasn’t overcome by her desire for him, she might have let a whistle escape her - the long, drawn out sort meant for teasing blushing brides. No doubt it would make him push her down on the bed so he could swallow the sound in his throat. The idea of it almost made her do it.

Jack must’ve known just how much she was his in moments like this and that there was nothing she would not let him have. Her face must have seemed to say ‘Take me, for I’m ripe and you’re all I want’ for every time they ended up like this, he did so without abandon. And she craved it. She knew that his disappearances had gotten fewer and farther between, because she anticipated his arrivals. The days without him felt longer and the nights, even worse. She was happy to look at his handsome, naked frame and to glance into his dark eyes and find nothing but want.

The mattress dipped suddenly from the return of his weight and she silently thanked whatever Lord that might exist for it. His skin was hot, so hot she could feel it radiate off of him despite the fact that had yet to make contact with one another again. The mere inches that separated them felt like miles. It did not take Jack long to reach out to her, pressing his long fingers into the flesh on her hip, closing the space. He pulled her body closer to his, unable to wait even a moment longer. He wanted to touch her. She felt it. He gripped her hard, like she was going to disappear right before him if he didn’t.

She pressed her lips to his but hardly made contact, too quick and not focused enough. Jack turned his head towards her, correcting the alignment of their lips. He kissed her hard and asked for entrance by sliding his tongue alongside her bottom lip. There was nothing she would not give him now. Opening her mouth, she welcomed the taste that was uniquely Jack - a mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable sweetness. It was what made him him. She could kiss a thousand men just like she was him, but none of them would have that. She craved it, the fool she was.

He groaned into her mouth as she took his hard cock into her right hand. He was bigger than most of the men she had seen. She resisted the urge to tell him, lest it inflate his ego, but she allowed herself to say “God, Jack, you’re so pretty.”

He laughed hotly, his head falling back onto the bed and his body following. It was like, through merely touching his cock, she had gained access to the very core of him. It made her smile. He allowed her to guide him back and climbed atop of him, straddling his thighs. Her eyes glanced upwards and really looked at him. He was pretty. His hair was messy, having been played with, and it was sticking up in the back, but it seemed to fit him. Jack was the sort of man who needn’t be perfectly put together to possess handsomeness. In fact, oftentimes he looked better when something was off. Aside from his hair there too was a blush that gathered over his cheeks and a pinched expression on his face that could land anywhere between pain and pleasure. He looked overwhelmed. He looked overcome. She liked him best this way.

She began to stroke him with her right hand, feeling out each vein in his cock with her dry hand, and fingering his weeping head with her left index finger. His eyes met hers and his mouth fell open but no words escaped. It was so rare Jack found himself unable to speak and she felt flattered that she could move him to it.

“I missed you, cowboy,” she confessed. It was easier to be vulnerable like this, when she felt so desired. Taking the wetness that he produced and running it over the tip of his head, she felt more powerful than she had in months. He jutted upwards, beginning to help her stroke him, unable to stay still. She knew he wanted her. She knew that his cock weeped for her. Jack wanted her so bad his whole body reacted to the feeling. She couldn’t understand how any woman wouldn’t feel this good, but she also hated to think he’d let any other woman feel this way. She didn’t like that his body might respond so readily and that he’d become so pliable for anyone but her.

In combat with this imaginary woman, she felt as though she had to show him why he should want her most. She did as she knew he liked: she scooted down his body and she took the head of him between her lips, sucking teasingly. He let out no sound and she did not glance up to see his face, but she knew from the way his cock jumped against her tongue that she excited him beyond words. Really, she had excited him even beyond movement, for even his hips had stilled.

She took him farther into her mouth, running her tongue over the underside of him as she went down, and then back up. The hands which had laid at his side pooled in her hair and he finally let a moan fall from his lips. He did nothing to change her speed - he did not move upwards with his hips like he had done in her hands, and he did not urge her with his hands in her hair - but she did it anyway, because she knew. She had done this as many times as he had fallen to her knees for him. It was an indeterminable amount, but she knew it to be many. The stretch of him in her mouth had once been a struggle, but now she took him with ease, as though she had become a woman made for him over time. In a way it felt as though she had. She came quickest on his tongue, fastest on his cock. He didn’t want her to tell other men that they felt best in her, and she wouldn’t because it was the truth. He did feel best.

The salty taste of him on her tongue reminded her of the tangy taste of herself on his, only moments before. Jack had been the only man who liked to  kiss her after he had put his mouth on her. Many men never even put their mouth down there to begin with. Jack had not been the first, but he had been the only one to show any sort of eagerness to do so. He had once confessed to her that he enjoyed the act of it because of the way women responded to it, so unashamed when he got them to that place just before they collapsed against his tongue. For much of the same reasons she enjoyed him in her mouth, Jack liked her in his. There was something beautiful about being able to give another person a pleasure that tore through them.

She wanted to taste him as he tasted her. She wanted to make him cum, to feel the tangible evidence of his desire on her tongue. She twirled her tongue around the head of his cock and reached between his legs to fondle his testicles. The hands that had been passive in her hair tightened when she did.

“No, no inside you,” Jack managed to say, voice hoarse.

She removed her mouth from his cock slowly, teasingly. “Have you got any protection?“ she asked.

“Yes,” he responded. He aimed a finger in the general direction of his clothing. “In my pockets. One of ‘em.”

She parted from him and began the search, digging through the endless amounts of pockets he seemed to have in his clothing. When she found it, she returned to him eagerly. He took the item from her hand and she got back to where she had begun, strangling his muscular thighs. She then watched curiously as he put the protection on his cock.

She often wondered what it might be like to feel the bareness of him between her legs as she had done in her mouth, without it. She had only ever had sex like this, protected, so she didn’t have any idea as to what it might feel like at all. Would she feel each vein as she did in her mouth? Would he be warmer against her, better suited? She found she liked the idea of the liquid that gathered on his cock now merging with the slickness that gathered between her legs; she could only imagine what it might be like if he exploded inside of her as he did in her mouth. She had heard that there were ways to do it without the result of children, but had never asked. Not until Jack had she wanted that.

Jack’s breath was labored as he leaned forward and kissed her. She melted into his body, her bare nipples pressing against his chest and her sex now pressing into his thigh instead of over them. She knew that he could feel the way she wanted him.

“Jack,” she whispered weakly as he brushed his lips against hers. She felt his hot breath against her cheek and the heat of his body between her, and she was certain she had never wanted someone so badly before. Desire tore through her like a storm and every sensible part of her fell in light of it. She pressed herself against his leg, hoping to find some relief.

He looked down between them and she did it again, daring him to do something about it. Pleading with him. When he didn’t, she did it again. His eyes did not stray from the place between them, and so she found herself doing it again, this time for his pleasure as much as hers. It was nothing compared to the feel of his cock but it helped, and the way he looked down at her, just watching, added another dimension of pleasure to it.

“You’re so wet.” He was so close to her that she felt his words fan against her. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck and his finger pressed into her hips, guiding her on his thigh. His cock jumped excitedly against his stomach as she pulled herself forward on him. Her breathy moans filled the rest of the space between them. The pressure that was being put on her clit made her weak yet strong, chasing the feeling that gathered in her stomach as her knees dared to give out. Jack held her as if he knew it.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, watching her. “Such a good girl for me, honey. I love feeling how much you want me.”

Her head fell back as he coaxed her into an orgasm. As her cunt clenched around nothing, she gripped her arms around his neck and let the feeling overcome her. He held her by the waist, drawing her in closer, and kissed her chest as the warm feeling of her finish traveled pleasurably throughout her shaky frame.

“Jack.” Her chest rose and fell, and sweat began to gather on her body. She could feel the moisture between them.

She looked down at him, exhausted but elated, and saw his dark brown eyes shine with a mixture of lust and adoration. That was another thing about Jack, that was uniquely his own; the way he looked at her. It held a tenderness, even if maybe his own heart lacked it. She kissed him hard on the lips in an attempt to not let it get her.

His arms ceased to release her, pressing her against his body as his tongue explored the depths of her mouth. She felt his erection pressed between them.

“Fuck me,” she told him bluntly, forgetting not to be coarse. She knew he didn’t mind it, anyhow. In fact, it was he who had introduced such words into her bedroom. She knew them, of course - she was no tart - but he invited them to be spoken. Nah - encouraged them. Some men thought that sort of thing to be dirty. They could accept that she’d want to sleep with them and they could accept all the obscene things they wanted to do with her, but words like fuck and cock and cunt made them think differently of her. Made them think her dirty. Not Jack. Jack took them in his mouth as he kissed her again and he prepared to do just what she asked.

The man was strong. He flipped her over onto her back and planted his body between her thighs. She felt his erection press into her sex when he leaned forward to plant a trail of kisses between her chest and down to her belly button. His mustache tickled her and she wriggled beneath him, a small smile forming.

He looked up at her, face hard. “You want me, honey?”

“More than anything,” she confessed, low and quiet, afraid if she said it too loud it might interrupt whatever took place between them now. His gaze was steady, sure, and those eyes of his made her feel warm even though she was as bare as she could get.

She watched as she took himself into his hands and lined his cock up to her opening. He watched her, never stopping to look down at himself. Those eyes of his wanted to take it all in, every moment. She nodded at him, wishing she could somehow open her legs wider, just to offer more of herself to him.

The tip of him was a tight fit even despite the way she all but gushed for him. He entered himself slowly, letting her body adjust to the size of him. He felt so warm. So good. When he reached the end of himself in her, she felt so delightfully full of him she was moved to pure silence. Jack stilled himself in her, letting them both have that moment. He held himself above her with his arms and curiously watched her features.

“Move.” She found her voice. “Fast.”

He nodded wordlessly. She didn’t have time to mourn the loss of him before his hips jutted forward and she got him again. He began to fuck her. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting herself to grant him more access, Jack’s hips snapped against her own. He hit her deep, touching a spot in her that drew out a beautiful mixture of expletives and his name.

“You take me so fuckin’ good,” he said behind gritted teeth. She felt him so deeply inside of her and yet she craved more. Her fingers dug half moons into the bottom of his back and he rammed herself full of him, again and again. The sound of her want filled the air, right alongside his deep groans. She bit at her lip.

He looked heavenly above her, even despite his completely undone state. He lost himself to her and it was a pleasure to see. “You fill me better than anyone,” she said. “Jackson. I feel like I was made for you.”

“‘Cause you goddamn were,” he grunted, plunging deeply inside of her. The obscene slap of his balls against her ass as he rammed into her drew a moan from her mouth, right alongside his words. She loved when he spoke like that. He knew she did. “I could make an honest woman of you if you’d let me.” His head fell by her ear, his strokes becoming shorter. His body drew closer to hers. “I could fill you to the brim with me, let me drip down your leg for a whole day after. If that gunslinger wants you so goddamn bad, he’ll just have to get a little of me, too.”

She could feel him pulse inside of her, the tell-tell sign of his incoming orgasm. She turned her head and kissed him sloppily on the lips. “That gunslinger won’t get me. Hasn’t,” she told him between breaths. “You’ve already made an honest woman out of me. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you hear it?”

He snapped his hips inside of her one time more before she felt the warmth of his semen filling the protection. He grunted and rode out the rest of it. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and he leaned more and more into her body until he laid completely into her, boneless. He breathed heavily, but contently, against her. Where her sweat ended and his began was no longer discernible. They were, for all intents and purposes, one.

The room smelled of their desire. She patted down his unruly hair, happy to be surrounded by it.

“I dunno how I ever manage to leave you,” he spoke softly. Her legs had fallen from his torso but her arms had yet to let him escape. She liked holding him and suspected that he liked to be held; those words of his nearly confirmed it, too.

“Seems you’ve been doing quite well without me,” she teased. But she strategically said no more.

“Yeah?” He turned his head to look at her.

“Mhm.”

“What makes you think that? Words been traveling?”

She smiled at him, amused. “Are there words with enough weight for the wind to carry?”

“Always.” He winked. “Nothin’ of merit, though. Just the same shit. They’ve taken to sayin’ I’ve killed two men. Gather that. Two men.”

“You haven’t?”

“I killed three of the bastards!” he huffed indignantly.

“Is that why you’re here? You’re running from the law?”

The tender look came to his eyes again. “Is that what you think I came here for?”

“No?” Yes. Maybe. “I haven’t ever really got the vaguest idea why you come.”

“I’m a bit caught up on you.”

“In me, you mean,” she countered. Her fingers moved his sweat matted hair away from his forehead.

He decided to let the comment pass. Neither of them liked addressing anything too serious.

“You break the heart of the girl who washed your clothes?”

His eyebrows knitted tougher. “What—“ Then he smiled. It was that charming grin of his that got him in her bed to begin with. “No, I didn’t let any girl wash my clothes. I did it. A man gets awfully lonely sometimes without female companionship so he does things like wash his own damn clothes.”

“And who’s line did you wash them on?” she asked. She didn’t know why she had to know so damn bad. She just did.

“A very fine old grandma.” His warm lips pressed into the flesh of her stomach. “I had to pay her a few coins, but I thought it was worth the effort. She let me bathe too. I hadn’t ever come to you clean like that before. Not all done up, anyways. I always bathe.”

Her heart leaped in her chest and she tried her best to not be overjoyed by what he was telling her. He said it all so simply, like it didn’t mean anything — like it wasn’t the grandest gesture a man had ever made to her.

She responded with own form of intimacy. “I’d like to clean your clothes.”

“Hm,” he responds. His fingers rubbed circles onto her side. “And claim me?” She said nothing, avoiding the serious. “I’d like you to wash my clothes,” he followed it up. “And cook my breakfasts.”

She grinned. “And your dinners?”

“And my dinners.”

“I’m not a damned maid,” she told him. Her lips twisted into a smirk.

“Okay, only the clothes then. We’ll figure out the rest later, won’t we?”

Her heart ached. It wasn’t supposed to do that. She needed something to bring her down to earth. “When are you leaving again?”

Jack lifted himself out of her and she nearly pleaded with him not to, but didn’t, not as fearless as she was before.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe enough for four washes of my clothes?”

“How often do your clothes get washed?”

“I don’t know. Depends. You can go as slow as possible.”

“What if they’re dirty?”

“I’ll be careful,” he spoke quietly. She knew his words meant too much for him when he did that. “I’ll stay out of trouble here with you.”

“Are you in trouble, Jack?”

“In a fashion.” He laid himself down next to her, having discarded the protection that had wrapped around him.

“Is someone lookin’ for you.”

“Sure.” He nodded. “But they’re not my problem.”

“What is?”

He smiled and ran his finger along her moist bottom lip. He kissed her then and she knew. It was her.

She was his trouble.

She’d never been so happy to be someone’s pain in the ass.

“I wouldn’t mind cookin’ lunch, I don’t think,” was what she said in response.

He laughed heartily. She did too.

If this was what making an honest woman of her entailed, maybe she wouldn’t mind that.

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x female oc #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #historical au

[scribbledghost]

Thoughts

Pairing: Neighbor!Agent Whiskey x Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,186

Warnings: Panic, Intrusive thoughts, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, reader has OCD

Notes: If you thought the rest of my fics were niche then hoo boy are you in for a ride. Anyway this fic is 100% wish fulfillment and 100000% For Me, I just decided to share it. :)

(Also: I know this technically isn't the recommended method to help someone who has a reassurance-seeking compulsion but shhhhh let me have this okay I'm Going Through It right now)

Jack’s bleary eyes blink awake at the sound of his ringtone coming from his bedside table. As his eyes and his brain adjust to the waking world, he briefly registers the bright red digital numbers on his clock - it’s two thirty-seven in the morning. He gropes around in the dark and grabs his still-ringing phone, blinking through the offending light when he turns the screen to face him as he thinks something along the lines of someone had better be dyin’. 

Your contact stares back at him.

The angry reaction to being woken up leaves him in record time as he answers; it’s not like you to call so late, after all. In fact, it’s not really like you to call at all. Usually if you need him, you send him a message.

He hears your broken breaths and sniffles before you speak, and he’s instantly upright in bed as he calls your name gently through the phone.

“What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you stutter, and now he’s out of bed and grabbing a shirt off the floor as his mind immediately races to the worse case scenario.

“It’s alright, baby,” he soothes, “just tell me what’s goin’ on so I can help you.”

“It’s late,” you continue, and it’s unclear if you even heard him. “You’ve got work tomorrow and you should be asleep and so should I, but-”

“Hey, hey,” he calls to you, letting himself breathe, if only slightly. It seems your earlier apology was for waking him, not for the reason his mind was telling him.

Thank god.

“It’s okay,” he reiterates softly, “it’s alright. None’a that matters right now. Just tell me what’s got you so worked up, an’ I’ll help you.”

“The - the thoughts,” you say, and your voice breaks as you sob, “they won’t stop. I keep trying to get them to go away a-and they won’t. They keep telling me that something’s wrong, that I’m sick, and I can’t make them stop.”

Jack’s pulling on his boots as you continue.

“...I just want them to stop, Jack.”

Your tiny, vulnerable voice breaks his heart.

“I know, baby,” he says, “them thoughts are lyin’ to you. You’re okay. Just stay on the phone with me for a little bit longer, I’m comin’ to you.”

“You - you don’t have to,” you stutter, but he stops you.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He’s now grabbed his keys and is out his front door. Thankfully, he lives right next door, so there’s no need for a drive this early in the morning. 

“Almost there,” he says as he crosses your yard and steps up your front porch, taking notice of the dim television light coming from your living room window. Suddenly, he’s thankful you left him a spare key when you went on vacation last month.

You must hear the key in the lock, because the other end of the line goes dead just as he opens your front door.

As he locks the door behind him and toes off his boots, he’s acutely aware that he’s clad in pajama pants and yesterday’s shirt. He’s sure he must be a sight.

But then again, so are you.

Jack spots you on the floor atop a small pallet of blankets and pillows. He’s certain you tried to sleep there when you failed to do so in your bed. The television is on a low volume, and he’s too focused on you to pay much mind to what’s on it. You’re curled in on yourself, arms around your knees and your head ducked low as your shoulders shake with tears.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

He makes his way to you, knees creaking in protest as he sits down beside you and pulls you to him. You continue to cry as he tucks your head beneath his chin and quietly soothes you among comforting words.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, registering how your breathing becomes heavier and more disjointed. You always did tend to cry more when he’d comfort you. “It’s okay. Jack’s here. Jack’s gotcha.”

You continue to apologize in between sobs. Apologize for waking him, apologize for calling him over, apologize for apologizing. He stops you at every turn - he won’t have it. The last thing he wants to do right now is have you feel like you’ve inconvenienced him.

“I just wanna be okay.”

His heart breaks all over again.

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighs as he kisses your forehead. “You’ll be okay. Everythin’s gonna be alright. I promise.”

After a few more minutes, the sobs give way to shaky breathing and sniffles. It appears that the worst has passed, but Jack knows it’s still far from over.

“I tried,” you say softly. “I tried to make it by myself. I know calling for reassurance is a compulsion. But I don’t see my therapist for another week, and I haven’t heard back from the psychiatrist yet about changing my medicine, and I just-”

Jack gently shushes you, bringing a hand up to thumb away the few errant tears that have strayed since he last did so a few seconds ago.

“I know ya tried, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s okay. I ain’t ever gonna be mad atcha for callin’ me for help. No matter what time it is or what I got goin’ on. I promise.”

“I’m just… so frustrated,” you reply. “I know they’re intrusive thoughts and the best way to make them go away is to acknowledge it and not give in to the compulsions. But I… I couldn’t…”

“I know, baby,” he soothes. “You’re tryin’, and that’s a big first step. But you gotta remember, this ain’t gonna go away overnight. I know you want it to, but unfortunately that’s just not how this goes. You’re gonna be okay. It just takes time.”

You pause, the quiet television droning on in the background.

“I’m not goin’ nowhere,” he assures you. “I’m here.”

“...Thank you,” you mutter softly as you lean against him.

“Don’t gotta thank me, sugar.”

Another pause.

“...I think I’m tired.”

“You wanna stay here? Or d’ya want me to take you to bed?” Jack asks.

“In here.”

He maneuvers you onto your pallet, pulling your weighted blanket over you as he grabs another from your couch.

“You don’t have to stay here,” you say as he wriggles down next to you on the floor.

“I know.”

“You can take the couch.”

“I know.”

“Your back is gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, baby.”

The back-and-forth continues for a few more minutes until you seem to tire out just enough to turn to him and curl into his chest.

“...Love you, Jack,” you say quietly. He kisses your head in response.

“I love you, darlin’.”

He’s already made up his mind to call in sick to work tomorrow. He’s sure you’ll fight him on it, and he’s even more sure you’ll fight him when he suggests you do the same. But it’s been a heavy night, and you’ll need the rest. 

Either way, he won’t leave you. That, he’s completely certain of.

#neighbor whiskey #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #ghost scribbles #neighbor au

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Somewhere Between Sorrow & Bliss

1200 words for 1200 followers #6

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This is the second of two requests that I got for Jack, and they go together because the two songs demanded it. The first can be found here, and should be read before this one to get the full picture. I absolutely have plans to continue this AU, as well as to fill out the time between these two parts, but for now please enjoy a little more Time Traveling Jack Daniels. 💚

Warnings: mild angst, Jack’s big brown puppy eyes and pouty lips 

Requested by: @writeforfandoms Song: Too Much Is Never Enough Character Choice: Jack Daniels - Jen!! Thank you SO MUCH for sending this in. I have A LOT of feelings about this song, just like I have a lot of feelings about this Cowboy. I hope you enjoy the direction I took it in, and where it’s eventually headed! 

Jack stood at your bedroom window as he gazed out over 9th Street, still quiet at this hour on a Sunday morning. 

You were asleep in the bed behind him. If he had his druthers he would be, too, with his arms wrapped around your body and your cheek against his chest. Then it would be your warm breath fanning out over his skin, not the summer breeze coming through the sheer curtains. Then he could trace lazy figure eights over your bicep, your hip, the nape of your neck. Then he could have one more morning’s worth of moments with you to take back to the present with him. 

Because by this time tomorrow I’ll be gone. 

A dull ache punched through his heart at the thought of going back. 

He winced, remembering the look on your face and the hurt in your voice when he’d come back to the Junction this time - on July 31st, not the 19th. For you it had been twelve days since he’d spun into your world like a tornado, charming you with his smile only to disappear just as suddenly as he showed up, without a word, without a goodbye, without a way to contact him. Without a reason to think he was any different than the other casanovas who wandered in looking for a one night stand. 

“Well, look who it is.” Your eyes had flashed as you tossed a cardboard coaster onto the bar like a frisbee. “So you do remember how to get here, then, Cowboy?” 

“Darlin’, I-” 

“Oh, absolutely not.” You slammed an empty glass on the rail and shook your head. Reaching for the neck of a whiskey bottle with your left hand, you tipped it to pour while grabbing the soda gun with your right. “You do not -” You pressed the button on the gun to add a splash of water to his drink. “- get to Darlin’ me after -” 

Your brow furrowed then, as though you weren’t sure how to articulate the disappointment, frustration and heartbreak you felt waking on the 20th only to find an empty bed beside you. Because it didn’t make sense for you to feel this strongly over someone you’d spent one night with. 

One night. Twenty-seven times. Spread out over a year.  

A year of figuring out how to make you smile, laugh, moan his name. A year of learning how to bring you to bliss with his touch and his tongue. Of falling in love with you while you learned him from scratch each time. 

But something in the way your fingers shook as you set his drink down on the coaster made him wonder if some part of you remembered more than just your last July 19th together. If maybe on some level your consciousness carried the memories that going through the Rewind had written over. 

Jack tried again, using your name that time, his fingers grazing yours as they left his glass. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for havin’ to leave that morning.” He frowned, swirling the contents of his drink. Whiskey’n water. She remembered. “I was on call for work and-” 

“And you couldn’t say goodbye?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “You snuck out, Jack. Your work was that urgent that you-” 

“Yes.” 

It wasn’t a lie. He had been called back urgently - by Ginger, when the twelve hour window had shut and the Rewind yanked him out of your bed and back into the present. 

“Yes,” he said again, a deep crease cutting into his forehead. “It was. But you have no idea how much I wish it wasn’t.” He sighed, tapping his glass.  “Would you believe me if I told you I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since the last time I saw those pretty eyes’a yours?” 

For you it had been twelve days, and that had been longer than he would have liked. But for Jack it had been two months without you. 

You sucked in a breath, clearly struck by his claim. The tip of your tongue swept out to wet your lips as you recovered. “No.” 

“No?” He swallowed despite not yet taking a sip from his glass. “Well I’d do anything for a chance to change your mind, Darlin’.” 

“Don’t call me that, Jack.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard you even over the din of the bar noise. “Not unless you’re here to stay.” 

His heart slammed at his rib cage as he contemplated how to answer. The trial for the Rewind had moved to the next stage, which involved sending the subject back for a longer period of time to see if prolonged skips along the continuum had any side effects. After a year of testing it for half a day, Ginger had reset the window to three days for this trip.

Finally bringing the glass to his lips, he took a drink, eyes on you the whole time. “Well, I’m in town all weekend. That be a good start?” 

A patron at the other end of the bar flagged you down and you shouted over to let him know you’d be right with him before turning back to Jack. He could see in your eyes that you wanted to say yes, and he latched onto that little bit of hope even after you responded. “Ask me again at the end of my shift.” 

He had. And now here he was in your bedroom two days later, awake and already feeling too far away from you even though he still had just under a day left in your life. Like waking up an hour shy of the alarm clock for fear of missing it, Jack found himself on edge about leaving you before it was time to. 

Part of it was due to the fact that he didn’t know how long it would be until he got to repeat these three days with you. Part of it was because the previous night, as you curled your body into his, both of you sweat slicked and spent, you’d confessed that you thought you’d gone crazy for how strongly you felt for him after just that one night - that you felt like you’d known him and that he’d known you for much longer than those few hours. 

But part of it was also because he was confused - and concerned - by the fact that in the present, when he’d tried to look you up just to see what your life was like along his current timeline, his search had drawn a blank. 

I need to find out why that is. Find out if- 

“Jack?” 

The sound of your voice, still hazy with sleep, pulled his focus away from the window, away from the ticking clock in the back of his mind and brought it back to you. He turned to see you lying on your side, the sheet pulled partially up your body, and in two long strides he was back at the bedside and climbing onto the mattress beside you. 

But right now I just need to be here. 

“G’mornin’, Darlin’.” He reached to pull you against his chest. “How’d you sleep?” 

.

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